LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

M*"'    H.    H.    KlllanI 


UCSB  LIBRAHY 


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H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE    COMEDIE    HUMAINE 


THE    FAIR    MtLLlNER    AND    THE    RETIRED    MILITARY    MAN 
WERE   SOON    IN    DEEP  CONVERSE  (P.  94.) 


H.    DE     BALZAC 


A  Distinguished 
Provincial  at  Paris 

(Un  grand  Homme  de  province  a  Paris) 

AND  Z.  MARCAS 


TKANSLATED    BY 


ELLEN    MARRIAGE 


WITH   A   PREFACE  BY 


GEORGE    SAINTSBURY 


e^ 


PHILADELPHIA 

The  Gebbie  Publishing  Co.,  Ltd. 
1898 


CONTENTS 


PAOB 

PREFACE ix 

A  DISTINGUISHED  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS 

PART   I. I 

FART  II. 122 

Z.   MARCAS 360 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE     FAIR     MILLINER    AND    THE    RETIRED    MILITARY   MAN  WERE 

SOON  IN  DEEP  CONVERSE  (p.  94)    ....         Frontispiece 

PACK 

"  M.      DE     RUBEMPRt,"      SAID     THE     MARQUISE "  TAKE     THIS 

SEAT" 21 

"OUGHT  I  TO  MAKE  A  SCENE  AND  LEAVE  CORALIE?"  .  .      I90 

"  ONE  HUNDRED  FRANCS,   CORALIE !  "   CRIED   HE  .  .  .  .     252 

"oh!    NEVER   MIND   THOSE   NINNIES,"    CRIED   CORALIE  .  .      317 

Drawn  by  W.  Boucher. 


PREFACE. 

The  central  part  of  "  lUusiones  Perdues,"  which  in  reason 
stands  by  itself,  and  may  do  so  ostensibly  with  considerably 
less  than  the  introduction  explanatory  which  Balzac  often 
gives  to  his  own  books,  is  one  of  the  most  carefully  worked 
out  and  diversely  important  of  his  novels.  It  should,  of 
course,  be  read  before  "  Splendeurs  et  Miseres  des  Courte- 
sanes,"  which  is  avowedly  its  second  part,  a  small  piece  of 
**  Eve  et  David  "  serving  as  the  link  between  them.  But  it  is 
almost  sufficient  by  and  to  itself,  "  Lucien  de  Rubempre  ou 
le  Journalisme"  would  be  the  most  straightforward  and  de- 
scriptive title  for  it,  and  one  which  Balzac,  in  some  of  his 
moods,  would  have  been  content  enough  to  use. 

The  story  of  it  is  too  continuous  and  interesting  to  need  elab- 
orate argument,  for  nobody  is  likely  to  miss  any  important  link 
in  it.  But  Balzac  has  nowhere  excelled  m  finesse  and  success 
of  analysis  the  double  disillusion  which  introduces  itself  at 
once  between  Madame  de  Bargeton  and  Lucien,  and  which 
makes  any  redinte-gratio  amoris  of  a  valid  kind  impossible, 
because  each  cannot  but  be  aware  that  the  other  has  antici- 
pated the  rupture.  It  will  not,  perhaps,  be  matter  of  such 
general  agreement  whether  he  has  or  has  not  exceeded  the 
fair  license  of  the  novelist  in  attributing  to  Lucien  those 
charms  of  body  and  gifts  of  mind  which  make  him,  till  his 
moral  weakness  and  worthlessness  are  exposed,  irresistible,  and 
enable  him  for  a  time  to  repair  his  faults  by  a  sort  of  fairy 
good-luck.  The  sonnets  of  *'Les  Marguerites,"  which  were 
given  to  the  author  by  poetical  friends — Gautier,  it  is  said, 
supplied  the  "Tulip  " — are  undoubtedly  good  and  sufficient. 
But  Lucien's  first  article,  which  is  (according  to  a  practice  the 
rashness  of  which  cannot  be  too  much  deprecated)  given  like- 

(ix) 


X  PREFACE. 

wise,  is  certainly  not  very  wonderful ;  and  the  Paris  press 
must  have  been  rather  at  a  low  ebb  if  it  made  any  sensation. 
As  we  are  not  favored  with  any  actual  portrait  of  Lucien,  de- 
tection is  less  possible  here,  but  the  novelist  has  perhaps  a 
very  little  abused  the  privilege  of  making  a  hero,  "  Like  Paris 
handsome,  and  like  Hector  brave,"  or,  rather,  "  Like  Paris 
handsome,  and  like  Phoebus  clever."  There  is  no  doubt, 
however,  that  the  interest  of  the  book  lies  partly  in  the  vivid 
and  severe  picture  of  journalism  given  in  it,  and  partly  in  the 
way  in  which  the  character  of  Lucien  is  adjusted  to  show  up 
that  of  the  abstract  journalist  still  farther. 

How  far  is  this  picture  true  ?  It  must  be  said,  in  fairness 
to  Balzac,  that  a  good  many  persons  of  some  competence  in 
France  have  pronounced  for  its  truth  there;  and  if  that  be  so, 
all  one  can  say  is,  "  So  much  the  worse  for  French  journalists." 
It  is  also  certain  that  a  lesser,  but  still  not  inconsiderable 
number  of  persons  in  England — generally  persons  who,  not 
perhaps  with  Balzac's  genius,  have  like  Balzac  published 
books,  and  are  not  satisfied  with  their  reception  by  the  press — 
agree  more  or  less  as  to  England.  For  myself,  I  can  only  say 
that  I  do  not  believe  things  have  ever  been  quite  so  bad  in 
England,  and  that  I  am  quite  sure  there  never  has  been  any 
need  for  them  to  be.  There  are,  no  doubt,  spiteful,  unprin- 
cipled, incompetent  practitioners  of  journalism  as  of  everything 
else ;  and  it  is  of  course  obvious  that  while  advertisements,  the 
favor  of  the  chiefs  of  parties,  and  so  forth,  are  temptations  to 
newspaper  managers  not  to  hold  up  a  very  high  standard  of 
honor,  anonymity  affords  to  newspaper  writers  a  dangerously 
easy  shield  to  cover  malice  or  dishonesty.  But  I  can  only  say 
that  during  long  practice  in  every  kind  of  political  and  literary 
journalism,  I  never  was  seriously  asked  to  write  anything  I 
did  not  think,  and  never  had  the  slightest  difficulty  in  con- 
fining myself  to  what  I  did  think. 

In  fact  Balzac,  like  a  good  many  other  men  of  letters  who 
abuse  journalism,  put  himself  very  much  out  of  court  by  con- 


PREFACE.  xi 

tinually  practicing  it,  not  merely  during  his  struggling  period, 
but  long  after  he  had  made  his  name,  indeed  almost  to  the 
very  last.  And  it  is  very  hard  to  resist  the  conclusion  that 
when  he  charged  journalism  generally  not  merely  with  envy, 
hatred,  malice,  and  all  uncharitableness,  but  with  hopeless 
and  pervading  dishonesty,  he  had  little  more  ground  for  it 
than  an  inability  to  conceive  how '  any  one,  except  from 
vile  reasons  of  this  kind,  could  fail  to  praise  Honore  de 
Balzac. 

At  any  rate,  either  his  art  by  itself,  or  his  art  assisted  and 
strengthened  by  that  personal  feeling  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
counted  for  much  with  him,  has  here  produced  a  wonderfully 
vivid  piece  of  fiction — one,  I  think,  inferior  in  success  to 
hardly  anything  he  has  done.  Whether,  as  at  a  late  period  a 
very  well-informed,  well-affected,  and  well-equipped  critic 
hinted,  his  picture  of  the  Luciens  and  the  Lousteaus  did  not 
a  little  to  propagate  both  is  another  matter.  The  seriousness 
with  which  Balzac  took  the  accusation  perhaps  shows  a  little 
sense  of  galling.  But,  putting  this  aside,  "  Un  Grand  Homme 
de  Province  a  Paris"  must  be  ranked,  both  for  comedy  and 
tragedy,  both  for  scheme  and  execution,  in  the  first  rank  of 
his  work. 

(For  bibliography,  see  Preface  to  "The  Two  Poets.") 
"  Z.  Marcas." — Numerous  and  often  good  as  are  the  stories 
by  all  manner  of  hands,  eminent  and  other,  of  the  strange 
neighbors  and  acquaintance  which  the  French  habit  of  living 
in  apartments  brings  about,  this  may  vie  with  almost  the  best 
of  them  for  individuality  and  force.  Of  course,  it  may  be 
said  that  its  brevity  demanded  no  very  great  effort ;  and  also, 
a  more  noteworthy  criticism,  that  Balzac  has  not  made  it  so 
very  clear,  after  all,  why  the  political  ingratitude  of  those  for 
whom  Marcas  labored  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  gain  a 
living  more  amply  and  comfortably  than  by  copying.  The 
former  carp  needs  no  answer ;  the  sonnet  is  the  equal  of  the 
long   poem  if  it  is  a  perfect  sonnet.     The  latter,  more  re- 


rii  PREFACE. 

spectable,  is  also  more  damaging.  But  it  is  a  fair,  if  not  quite 
full,  defense  to  say  that  Balzac  is  here  once  more  exemplifying 
his  favorite  notion  of  the  maniaque  in  the  French  sense — of 
the  man  with  one  idea,  who  is  incapable  not  only  of  making  a 
dishonorable  surrender  of  that  idea,  but  of  entering  into  even 
the  most  honorable  armistice  in  his  fight  for  it.  Not  only  will 
such  a  man  not  bow  in  the  House  of  Rimmon,  but  the  fullest 
liberty  to  stay  outside  will  not  content  him — he  must  force 
himself  in  and  be  at  the  idol.  The  external  as  well  as  the 
internal  portraiture  of  **  Z.  Marcas  "  is  also  as  good  as  it  can 
be :  and  it  cannot  but  add  legitimate  interest  to  the  sketch  to 
remember,  first,  that  Balzac  attributes  to  Marcas  his  own 
favorite  habits  and  times  of  work ;  and,  secondly,  that,  like 
some  other  men  of  letters,  he  himself  was  an  untiring,  and 
would  fain  have  been  an  influential,  politician. 

"  Z,  Marcas,"  written  in  1840,  appeared  in  the  "Revue 
Parisienne  "  for  July  of  that  year,  made  its  first  book  appear- 
ance in  a  miscellany  by  different  hands  called  **  Le  Fruit 
D6fendu  "  (1841),  and  five  years  later  took  rank  in  the 
**  Comedie." 

G.  S. 


A  DISTINGUISHED  PROVINCIAL 
AT  PARIS. 

PART  I. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  and  Lucien  de  Rubempr6  had  left 
Angouleme  behind,  and  were  traveling  together  upon  the 
road  to  Paris.  Not  one  of  the  party  who  made  that  journey 
alluded  to  it  afterward  ;  but  it  may  be  believed  that  an  in- 
fatuated youth  who  had  looked  forward  to  the  delights  of  an 
elopement  must  have  found  the  continual  presence  of  Gentil, 
the  manservant,  and  Albertine,  the  maid,  not  a  little  irksome 
on  the  way.  Lucien,  traveling  post  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  was  horrified  to  see  pretty  nearly  the  whole  sum  on  which 
he  meant  to  live  in  Paris  for  a  twelvemonth  dropped  along 
the  road.  Like  other  men  who  combine  great  intellectual 
powers  with  the  charming  simplicity  of  childhood,  he  openly 
expressed  his  surprise  at  the  new  and  wonderful  things  which 
he  saw,  and  thereby  made  a  mistake.  A  man  should  study  a 
woman  very  carefully  before  he  allows  her  to  see  his  thoughts 
and  emotions  as  they  arise  in  him.  A  woman,  whose  nature 
is  large  as  her  heart  is  tender,  can  smile  upon  childishness 
and  make  allowances  ;  but  let  her  have  ever  so  small  a  spice 
of  vanity  herself,  and  she  cannot  forgive  childishness,  or 
littleness,  or  vanity  in  her  lover.  Many  a  woman  is  so  ex- 
travagant a  worshiper  that  she  must  always  see  the  god  in  her 
idol ;  but  there  are  yet  others  who  love  a  man  for  his  sake 
and  not  for  their  own,  and  adore  his  failings  with  his  greater 
qualities. 

Lucien  had  not  guessed  as  yet  that  Mme.  de  Bargeton's 
love  was  grafted  on  pride.  He  made  another  mistake  when 
he  failed  to  discern  the  meaning  of  certain  smiles  which 

(1) 


2  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PA  HIS. 

flitted  over  Louise's  lips  from  time  to  time ;  and  instead  of 
keeping  himself  to  himself,  he  indulged  in  the  playfulness  of 
the  young  rat  emerging  from  his  hole  for  the  first  time. 

The  travelers  were  set  down  before  daybreak  at  the  sign  of 
the  Gaillard-Bois  in  the  Rue  de  I'Echelle,  both  so  tired  out 
with  the  journey  that  Louise  went  straight  to  bed  and  slept, 
first  bidding  Lucien  to  engage  the  room  immediately  over- 
head. Lucien  slept  on  until  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
when  he  was  awakened  by  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  servant,  and, 
learning  the  hour,  made  a  hasty  toilet  and  hurried  downstairs. 

Louise  was  sitting  in  the  shabby  inn  sitting-room.  Hotel 
accommodation  is  a  blot  on  the  civilization  of  Paris ;  for  with 
all  its  pretensions  to  elegance,  the  city  as  yet  does  not  boast  a 
single  inn  where  a  well-to-do  traveler  can  find  the  surround- 
ings to  which  he  is  accustomed  at  home.  To  Lucien's  just- 
awakened,  sleep-dimmed  eyes,  Louise  was  hardly  recognizable 
in  this  cheerless,  sunless  room,  with  the  shabby  window-cur- 
tains, the  comfortless  polished  floor,  the  hideous  furniture 
bought  second-hand,  or  much  the  worse  for  wear. 

Some  people  no  longer  look  the  same  when  detached  from 
the  background  of  faces,  objects,  and  surroundings  which 
serve  as  a  setting,  without  which,  indeed,  they  seem  to  lose 
something  of  their  intrinsic  worth.  Personality  demands  its 
appropriate  atmosphere  to  bring  out  its  values,  just  as  the 
figures  in  Flemish  interiors  need  the  arrangement  of  light  and 
shade  in  which  they  are  placed  by  the  painter's  genius  if  they 
are  to  live  for  us.  This  is  especially  true  of  provincials. 
Mme.  de  Bargeton,  moreover,  looked  more  thoughtful  and 
dignified  than  was  necessary  now,  when  no  barriers  stood 
between  her  and  happiness. 

Gentil  and  Albertine  waited  upon  them,  and  while  they 
were  present  Lucien  could  not  complain.  The  dinner,  sent 
in  from  a  neighboring  restaurant,  fell  far  below  the  provincial 
average,  both  in  quantity  and  quality;  the  essential  goodness 
of  country  fare  was  wanting,  and  in  point  of  quantity  the 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  3 

portions  were  cut  with  so  strict  an  eye  to  business  that  they 
savored  of  short  con^mons.  In  such  small  matters  Paris  does 
not  show  its  best  side'to  travelers  of  moderate  fortune.  Lu- 
cien  waited  till  the  meal  was  over.  Some  change  had  come 
over  Louise,  he  thought,  but  he  could  not  explain  it. 

And  a  change  had,  in  fact,  taken  place.  Events  had  oc- 
curred while  he  slept ;  for  reflection  is  an  event  in  our  inner 
history,  and  Mrae.  de  Bargeton  had  been  reflecting. 

About  two  o'clock  that  afternoon,  Sixte  du  Chatelet  made 
his  appearance  in  the  Rue  de  I'Echelle  and  asked  for  Al- 
bertine.  The  sleeping  damsel  was  aroused,  and  to  her  he 
expressed  his  wish  to  speak  with  her  mistress.  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  had  scarcely  time  to  dress  before  he  came  back 
again.  The  unaccountable  apparition  of  M.  du  Chatelet 
roused  the  lady's  curiosity,  for  she  had  kept  her  journey  a 
profound  secret,  as  she  thought.  At  three  o'clock  the  visitor 
was  admitted. 

"  I  have  risked  a  reprimand  from  headquarters  to  follow 
you,"  he  said,  as  he  greeted  her;  "  I  foresaw  coming  events. 
But  if  I  lose  my  post  for  it,  you,  at  any  rate,  shall  not  be 
lost." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  exclaimed  Mme.  de  Bargeton. 

"I  can  see  plainly  that  you  love  Lucien,"  he  continued, 
with  an  air  of  tender  resignation.  "You  must  love  indeed 
if  you  can  act  thus  recklessly  and  disregard  the  conventions 
which  you  know  so  well.  Dear  adored  NaTs,  can  you  really 
imagine  that  Madame  d'Espard's  salon,  or  any  other  salon  in 
Paris,  will  not  be  closed  to  you  as  soon  as  it  is  known  that 
you  have  fled  from  Angoulfime,  as  it  were,  with  a  young 
man,  especially  after  the  duel  between  de  Bargeton  and  de 
Chandour?  The  fact  that  your  husband  has  gone  to  the  Es- 
carbas  looks  like  a  separation.  Under  such  circumstances  a 
gentleman  fights  first  and  afterward  leaves  his  wife  at  lib- 
erty. Give  Monsieur  de  Rubempr6  your  love  and  your  coun- 
tenance ;  do  just  as  you  please  \  but  you  must  not  live  in  the 


4  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

same  house.  If  anybody  here  in  Paris  knew  that  you  had 
traveled  together,  the  whole  world  that  you  have  a  mind  to 
see  would  point  the  finger  at  you. 

*'  And,  NaTs,  do  not  make  these  sacrifices  for  a  young  man 
whom  you  have  as  yet  compared  with  no  one  else ;  he,  on  his 
side,  has  been  put  to  no  proof ;  he  may  forsake  you  for  some 
Parisienne,  better  able,  as  he  may  fancy,  to  further  his  ambi- 
tions. I  mean  no  harm  to  the  man  you  love,  but  you  will 
permit  me  to  put  your  own  interests  before  his,  and  to  beg 
you  to  study  him,  to  be  fully  aware  of  the  serious  nature  of 
this  step  that  you  are  taking.  And,  then,  if  you  find  all 
doors  closed  against  you,  and  that  none  of  the  women  call 
upon  you,  make  sure  at  least  that  you  will  feel  no  regret  for 
all  that  you  have  renounced  for  him.  Be  very  certain  first 
that  he  for  whom  you  will  have  given  up  so  much  will  always 
be  worthy  of  your  sacrifices  and  appreciate  them. 

**  Just  now,"  continued  Chatelet,  "  Madame  d'Espard  is  the 
more  prudish  and  particular  because  she  herself  is  separated 
from  her  husband,  nobody  knows  why.  The  Navarreins,  the 
Lenoncourts,  the  Blamont-Chauvrys,  and  the  rest  of  the  rela- 
tions have  all  rallied  round  her  ;  the  most  strait-laced  women 
are  seen  at  her  house,  and  receive  her  with  respect,  and  the 
Marquis  d'Espard  has  been  put  in  the  wrong.  The  first  call 
that  you  pay  will  make  it  clear  to  you  that  I  am  right;  indeed, 
knowing  Paris  as  I  do,  I  can  tell  you  beforehand  that  you 
will  no  sooner  enter  the  Marquise's  salon  than  you  will  be  in 
despair  lest  she  should  find  out  that  you  are  staying  at  the 
Gaillard-Bois  with  an  apothecary's  son,  though  he  may  wish 
to  be  called  Monsieur  de  Rubempr6. 

"You  will  have  rivals  here,  women  far  more  astute  and 
shrewd  than  Am61ie ;  they  will  not  fail  to  discover  whom  you 
are,  where  you  are,  where  you  come  from,  and  all  that  you 
are  doing.  You  have  counted  upon  your  incognito,  I  see, 
but  you  are  one  of  those  women  for  whom  an  incognito  is  out 
of  the  question.    You  will  meet  Angoulgme  at  every  turn. 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  5 

There  are  the  deputies  from  the  Charente  coming  up  for  the 
opening  of  the  session ;  there  is  the  commandant  in  Paris  on 
leave.  Why,  the  first  man  or  woman  from  Angoulgme  who 
happens  to  see  you  would  cut  your  career  short  in  a  strange 
fashion.     You  would  simply  be  Lucien's  mistress. 

"  If  you  need  me  at  any  time,  I  am  staying  with  the  re- 
ceiver-general in  the  Rue  du  Faubourg  Saint-Honore,  two 
steps  away  from  Madame  d'Espard's.  I  am  sufficiently  ac- 
quainted with  the  Marechale  de  Carigliano,  Madame  de  Serizy, 
and  the  president  of  the  council  to  introduce  you  to  them ; 
but  you  will  meet  so  many  people  at  Madame  d'Espard's  that 
you  are  not  likely  to  require  me.  So  far  from  wishing  to  gain 
admittance  to  this  set  or  that,  every  one  will  be  longing  to 
make  your  acquaintance." 

Chatelet  talked  on ;  Mme.  de  Bargeton  made  no  inter- 
ruption. She  was  struck  with  his  perspicacity.  The  queen 
of  Angoul&me  had,  in  fact,  counted  upon  preserving  her  in- 
cognito. 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear  friend,"  she  said  at  length ;  "but 
what  am  I  to  do?  " 

"Allow  me  to  find  suitable  furnished  lodgings  for  you," 
suggested  Chatelet ;  "  that  way  of  living  is  less  expensive  than 
an  inn.  You  will  have  a  home  of  your  own ;  and,  if  you 
will  take  my  advice,  you  will  sleep  in  your  new  rooms  this 
very  night." 

"But  how  did  you  know  my  address?  "  queried  she. 

"  Your  traveling  carriage  is  easily  recognized ;  and,  beside, 
I  was  following  you.  At  Sevres  your  postillion  told  mine  that 
he  had  brought  you  here.  Will  you  permit  me  to  act  as 
your  harbinger  ?  I  will  write  as  soon  as  I  have  found  lodg- 
ings." 

"  Very  well,  do  so,"  said  she.  And  in  those  seemingly 
insignificant  words,  all  was  said.  The  Baron  du  Chatelet  had 
spoken  the  language  of  worldly  wisdom  to  a  woman  of  the 
world.     He  had  made  his  appearance  before  her  in  faultless 


6  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

dress,  a  neat  cab  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  door ;  and  Mme. 
de  Bargeton,  standing  by  the  window  thinking  over  the  posi- 
tion, chanced  to  see  the  elderly  dandy  drive  away. 

A  few  moments  later  Lucien  appeared,  half-awake  and 
hastily  dressed.  He  was  handsome,  it  is  true ;  but  his  clothes, 
his  last  year's  nankeen  trousers,  and  his  shabby  tight  jacket 
were  ridiculous.  Put  Antinous  or  the  Apollo  Belvedere  him- 
self into  a  water-carrier's  blouse,  and  how  shall  you  recognize 
the  godlike  creature  of  the  Greek  or  Roman  chisel?  The 
eyes  note  and  compare  before  the  heart  has  time  to  revise  the 
swift  involuntary  judgment ;  and  the  contrast  between  Lucien 
and  Chatelet  was  so  abrupt  that  it  could  not  fail  to  strike 
Louise. 

Toward  six  o'clock  that  evening,  when  dinner  was  over, 
Mme.  de  Bargeton  beckoned  Lucien  to  sit  beside  her  on  the 
shabby  sofa,  covered  with  a  flowered  chintz — a  yellow  pattern 
on  a  red  ground. 

**  Lucien  mine,"  she  said,  "  don't  you  think  that  if  we  have 
both  of  us  done  a  foolish  thing,  suicidal  for  both  our  interests, 
that  it  would  only  be  commonsense  to  set  matters  right  ?  We 
ought  not  to  live  together  in  Paris,  dear  boy,  and  we  must  not 
allow  any  one  to  suspect  that  we  traveled  together.  Your 
career  depends  so  much  upon  my  position  that  I  ought  to  do 
nothing  to  spoil  it.  So,  to-night,  I  am  going  to  remove  into 
lodgings  near  by.  But  you  will  stay  on  here,  we  can  see  each 
other  every  day,  and  nobody  can  say  a  word  against  us." 

And  Louise  explained  conventions  to  Lucien,  who  opened 
wide  eyes.  He  had  still  to  learn  that  when  a  woman  thinks 
better  of  her  folly,  she  thinks  better  of  her  love ;  but  one 
thing  he  understood — he  saw  that  he  was  no  longer  the  Lucien 
of  AngoulSme.  Louise  talked  of  herself,  of  her  interests,  her 
reputation,  and  of  the  world  ;  and,  to  veil  her  egoism,  she 
tried  to  make  him  believe  that  this  was  all  on  his  account. 
He  had  no  claim  upon  Louise  thus  suddenly  transformed  into 
Mme.  de  Bargeton,  and,  more  serious  still,  he  had  no  power 


A    PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  7 

over  her.  He  could  not  keep  back  the  tears  that  filled  his 
eyes. 

**  If  I  am  your  glc^ry,"  cried  the  poet,  "  you  are  yet  more 
to  me — you  are  my  one  hope,  my  whole  future  rests  with  you. 
I  thought  that  if  you  meant  to  make  my  successes  yours,  you 
would  surely  make  my  adversity  yours  also,  and  here  we  are 
going  to  part  already." 

"You  are  judging  my  conduct,"  said  she;  "you  do  not 
love  me." 

Lucien  looked  at  her  with  such  a  dolorous  expression  that, 
in  spite  of  herself,  she  said — 

"  Darling,  I  will  stay  if  you  like.  We  shall  both  be  ruined ; 
we  shall  have  no  one  to  come  to  our  aid.  But  when  we  are 
both  equally  wretched,  and  every  one  shuts  their  door  upon 
us  both ;  when  failure  (for  we  must  look  all  possibilities  in 
the  face),  when  failure  drives  us  back  to  the  Escarbas,  then 
remember,  love,  that  I  foresaw  the  end,  and  that  at  the  first 
I  proposed  that  we  should  make  your  way  by  conforming  to 
established  rules." 

"Louise,"  he  cried,  with  his  arms  round  her,  "you  are 
wise ;  you  frighten  me  !  Remember  that  I  am  a  child,  that 
I  have  given  myself  up  entirely  to  your  dear  will.  I  myself 
should  have  preferred  to  overcome  obstacles  and  win  my  way 
among  men  by  the  power  that  is  in  me ;  but  if  I  can  reach 
the  goal  sooner  through  your  aid,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  owe 
all  my  success  to  you.  Forgive  me  !  You  mean  so  much  to 
me  that  I  cannot  help  fearing  all  kinds  of  things ;  and,  for 
me,  parting  means  that  desertion  is  at  hand,  and  desertion  is 
death." 

"  But,  my  dear  boy,  the  world's  demands  are  soon  sat- 
isfied," she  returned.  "You  must  sleep  here;  that  is  all. 
All  day  long  you  will  be  with  me,  and  no  one  can  say  a  word." 

A  few  kisses  set  Lucien 's  mind  completely  at  rest.  An 
hour  later  Gentil  brought  in  a  note  from  Chitelet.  He  told 
Mme.  de  Bargeton  that  he  had  found  lodgings  for  her  in  the 


8  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

Rue  Neuve-de-Luxembourg.  Mme.  de  Bargeton  informed 
herself  of  the  exact  place,  and  found  that  it  was  not  very  far 
from  the  Rue  de  I'Echelle.  "We  shall  be  neighbors,"  she 
told  Lucien. 

Two  hours  afterward  Louise  stepped  into  the  hired  carriage 
sent  by  Chatelet  for  the  removal  to  the  new  rooms.  The 
apartments  were  of  the  class  that  upholsterers  furnish  and  let 
to  wealthy  deputies  and  persons  of  consideration  on  a  short 
visit  to  Paris  —  showy  and  uncomfortable.  It  was  eleven 
o'clock  when  Lucien  returned  to  his  inn,  having  seen  nothing 
as  yet  of  Paris  except  the  part  of  the  Rue  Saint-Honore  which 
lies  between  the  Rue  Neuve-de-Luxembourg  and  the  Rue  de 
I'Echelle.  He  lay  down  in  his  miserable  little  room,  and 
could  not  help  comparing  it  in  his  own  mind  with  Louise's 
sumptuous  apartments. 

Just  as  he  came  away  the  Baron  du  Chitelet  came  in,  gor- 
geously arrayed  in  evening  dress,  fresh  from  the  minister  for 
foreign  affairs,  to  inquire  whether  Mme.  de  Bargeton  was 
satisfied  with  all  that  he  had  done  on  her  behalf.  Nais  was 
uneasy.  The  splendor  was  alarming  to  her  mind.  Provincial 
life  had  reacted  upon  her;  she  was  painfully  conscientious 
over  her  accounts  and  economical  to  a  degree  that  is  looked 
upon  as  miserly  in  Paris.  She  had  brought  with  her  twenty 
thousand  francs  in  the  shape  of  a  draft  on  the  receiver-general, 
considering  that  the  sum  would  more  than  cover  the  expenses 
of  four  years  in  Paris ;  she  was  afraid  already  lest  she  should 
not  have  enough  and  should  run  into  debt ;  and  now  Chate- 
let told  her  that  her  rooms  would  only  cost  six  hundred  francs 
per  month. 

**  A  mere  trifle,"  added  he,  seeing  that  NaTs  was  startled. 
"  For  five  hundred  francs  a  month  you  can  have  a  carriage 
from  a  livery  stable  ;  fifty  louis  in  all.  You  need  only  think 
of  your  dress.  A  woman  moving  in  good  society  could  not 
well  do  less;  and  if  you  mean  to  obtain  a  receiver-general's 
appointment  for  de  Bargeton,  or  a  post  in  the  household. 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  9 

you  ought  not  to  look  poverty-stricken.  Here,  in  Paris,  they 
only  give  to  the  rich.  It  is  most  fortunate  that  you  brought 
Gentil  to  go  out  with  you,  and  Albertine  for  your  own 
woman,  for  servants  are  enough  to  ruin  you  here.  But  with 
your  introductions  you  will  seldom  be  at  home  to  a  meal." 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  and  the  Baron  du  Ch^telet  chatted  about 
Paris.  Chatelet  gave  her  all  the  news  of  the  day,  the  myriad 
nothings  that  you  are  bound  to  know,  under  penalty  of  being 
a  nobody.  Before  very  long  the  Baron  also  gave  advice  as  to 
shopping,  recommending  Herbault  for  toques  and  Juliette  for 
hats  and  bonnets ;  he  added  the  address  of  a  fashionable 
dressmaker  to  supersede  Victorine.  In  short,  he  made  the 
lady  see  ':he  necessity  of  rubbing  off  Angoul^me.  Then  he 
took  his  leave  after  a  final  flash  of  happy  inspiration. 

**  I  expect  I  shall  have  a  box  at  one  of  the  theatres  to- 
morrow," he  remarked  carelessly;  "I  will  call  for  you  and 
Monsieur  de  Rubempre,  for  you  must  allow  me  to  do  the  hon- 
ors of  Paris." 

"  There  is  more  generosity  in  his  character  than  I  thought," 
said  Mme.  de  Bargeton  to  herself  when  Lucien  was  included 
in  the  invitation. 

In  the  month  of  June  ministers  are  often  puzzled  to  know 
what  to  do  with  boxes  at  the  theatre  ;  ministerialist  deputies 
and  their  constituents  are  busy  in  their  vineyards  or  harvest- 
fields,  and  their  more  exacting  acquaintances  are  in  the 
country  or  traveling  about ;  so  it  comes  to  pass  that  the  best 
seats  are  filled  at  this  season  with  heterogeneous  theatre-goers, 
never  seen  at  any  other  time  of  year,  and  the  house  is  apt  to 
look  as  if  it  were  tapestried  with  very  shabby  material. 
Chitelet  had  thought  already  that  this  was  his  opportunity  of 
giving  NaTs  the  amusements  which  provincials  crave  most 
eagerly,  and  that  with  very  little  expense. 

The  next  morning,  the  very  first  morning  in  Paris,  Lucien 
went  to  the  Rue  Neuve-de-Luxembourg  and  found  that  Louise 
had  gone  out.     She  had  gone  to  make  some  indispensable 


10  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

purchases,  to  take  counsel  of  the  mighty  and  illustrious 
authorities  in  the  matter  of  the  feminine  toilet,  pointed  out 
to  her  by  Chatelet,  for  she  had  written  to  tell  the  Marquise 
d'Espard  of  her  arrival.  Mme.  de  Bargeton  possessed  the 
self-confidence  born  of  a  long  habit  of  rule,  but  she  was  ex- 
ceedingly afraid  of  appearing  to  be  provincial.  She  had  tact 
enough  to  know  how  greatly  the  relations  of  women  among 
themselves  depend  upon  first  impressions;  and  though  she 
felt  that  she  was  equal  to  taking  her  place  at  once  in  such  a 
distinguished  set  as  Mme.  d'Espard's,  she  felt  also  that  she 
stood  in  need  of  good-will  at  her  first  entrance  into  society, 
and  was  resolved,  in  the  first  place,  that  she  would  leave 
nothing  undone  to  secure  success.  So  she  felt  boundlessly 
thankful  to  Chatelet  for  pointing  out  these  ways  of  putting 
herself  in  harmony  with  the  fashionable  world. 

A  singular  chance  so  ordered  it  that  the  Marquise  was  de- 
lighted to  find  an  opportunity  of  being  useful  to  a  connection 
of  her  husband's  family.  The  Marquis  d'Espard  had  just 
withdrawn  himself  without  apparent  reason  from  society,  and 
ceased  to  take  any  active  interest  in  affairs,  political  or  do- 
mestic. His  wife,  thus  left  mistress  of  her  actions,  felt  the 
need  of  the  support  of  public  opinion,  and  was  glad  to  take 
the  Marquis'  place  and  give  her  countenance  to  one  of  her 
husband's  relations.  She  meant  to  be  ostentatiously  gracious, 
so  as  to  put  her  husband  more  evidently  in  the  wrong ;  and 
that  very  day  she  wrote  "  Mme.  de  Bargeton  /?<?<?  Negrepelisse  " 
a  charming  billet,  one  of  the  prettily  worded  compositions  of 
which  time  alone  can  discover  the  emptiness. 

"  She  was  delighted  that  circumstances  had  brought  a  rela- 
tive, of  whom  she  had  heard,  whose  acquaintance  she  had 
desired  to  make,  into  closer  connection  with  her  family. 
Friendships  in  Paris  were  not  so  solid  but  that  she  longed  to 
find  one  more  to  love  on  earth  \  and  if  this  might  not  be,  there 
would  only  be  one  more  illusion  to  bury  with  the  rest.    She 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  11 

put  herself  entirely  at  her  cousin's  disposal.  She  would  have 
called  upon  her  if  mdisposition  had  not  kept  her  to  the  house, 
and  she  felt  that  she  lay  already  under  obligations  to  the 
cousin  who  had  thought  of  her." 

Lucien,  meanwhile,  taking  his  first  ramble  along  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix  and  through  the  boulevards,  like  all  new-comers,  was 
much  more  interested  in  the  things  that  he  saw  than  in  the 
people  he  met.  The  general  effect  of  Paris  is  wholly  engross- 
ing at  first.  The  wealth  in  the  shop  windows,  the  high  houses, 
the  streams  of  traffic,  the  contrast  everywhere  between  the 
last  extremes  of  luxury  and  want  struck  him  more  than  any- 
thing else.  In  his  astonishment  at  the  crowds  of  strange 
faces,  the  man  of  imaginative  temper  felt  as  if  he  himself  had 
shrunk,  as  it  were,  immensely.  A  man  of  any  consequence 
in  his  native  place,  where  he  cannot  go  out  but  he  meets  with 
some  recognition  of  his  importance  at  every  step,  does  not 
readily  accustom  himself  to  the  sudden  and  total  extinction  of 
his  consequence.  You  are  somebody  in  your  own  country — in 
Paris  you  are  nobody.  The  transition  between  the  first  state 
and  the  last  should  be  made  gradually,  for  the  too  abrupt  fall 
is  something  like  annihilation.  Paris  could  not  fail  to  be  an 
appalling  wilderness  for  a  young  poet,  who  looked  for  an  echo 
for  all  his  sentiments,  a  confident  for  all  his  thoughts,  a  soul 
to  share  his  least  sensations. 

Lucien  had  not  gone  in  search  of  his  luggage  and  his  best 
blue  coat ;  and  painfully  conscious  of  the  shabbiness,  to  say 
no  worse  of  his  clothes,  he  went  to  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  feel- 
ing sure  that  she  must  have  returned.  He  found  the  Baron 
du  Chatelet,  who  carried  them  both  off  to  dinner  at  the  Rocher 
deCancale.  Lucien's  head  was  dizzy  with  the  whirl  of  Paris, 
the  Baron  was  in  the  carriage,  he  could  say  nothing  to  Louise, 
but  he  squeezed  her  hand,  and  she  gave  a  warm  response  to 
the  mute  confidence. 

After  dinner  Chatelet  took  his  guests  to  the  Vaudeville. 


12  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

Lucien,  in  his  heart,  was  not  over  well  pleased  to  see  Ch^telet 
again,  and  cursed  the  chance  that  had  brought  the  Baron  to 
Paris.  The  Baron  said  that  ambition  had  brought  him  to 
town ;  he  had  hopes  of  an  appointment  as  secretary-general 
to  a  government  department,  and  meant  to  take  a  seat  in  the 
council  of  state  as  master  of  requests.  He  had  come  to  Paris 
to  ask  for  fulfillment  of  the  promises  that  had  been  given  him, 
for  a  man  of  his  stamp  could  not  be  expected  to  remain  a 
comptroller  all  his  life;  he  would  rather  be  nothing  at  all, 
and  offer  himself  for  election  as  deputy,  or  re-enter  diplomacy. 
Chatelet  grew  visibly  taller ;  Lucien  dimly  began  to  recognize 
in  this  elderly  beau  the  superiority  of  the  man  of  the  world 
who  knows  Paris;  and,  most  of  all,  he  felt  ashamed  to  owe 
his  evening's  amusement  to  his  rival.  And  while  the  poet 
looked  ill  at  ease  and  awkward,  her  royal  highness'  ex-secre- 
tary was  quite  in  his  element.  He  smiled  at  his  rival's  hesita- 
tions, at  his  astonishment,  at  the  questions  he  put,  at  the  little 
mistakes  which  the  latter  ignorantly  made,  much  as  an  old 
salt  laughs  at  an  apprentice  who  has  not  found  his  sea  legs ; 
but  Lucien's  pleasure  at  seeing  a  play  for  the  first  time  in 
Paris  outweighed  the  annoyance  of  these  small  humiliations. 

That  evening  marked  an  epoch  in  Lucien's  career ;  he  put 
away  a  good  many  of  his  ideas  as  to  provincial  life  in  the 
course  of  it.  His  horizon  widened  ;  society  assumed  different 
proportions.  There  were  fair  Parisiennes  in  fresh  and  elegant 
toilets  all  about  him  ;  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  costume,  tolerably 
ambitious  though  it  was,  looked  dowdy  by  comparison  ;  the 
material,  like  the  fashion  and  the  color,  was  out  of  date. 
That  way  of  arranging  her  hair,  so  bewitching  in  AngoulSme, 
looked  friglitfully  ugly  here  among  the  daintily  devised  coif- 
fures which  he  saw  in  every  direction. 

"Will  she  always  look  like  that?"  he  said  to  himself, 
ignorant  that  the  morning  had  been  spent  in  preparing  a 
transformation. 

In  the  provinces  comparison  and  choice  are  out  of  the 
question  ;  when  a  face  has  grown  familiar  it  comes  to  possess  a 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  18 

certain  beauty  that  is  taken  for  granted.  But  transport  the 
pretty  woman  of  the  provinces  to  Paris  and  no  one  takes  the 
slightest  notice  of  her;  her  prettiness  is  of  the  comparative 
degree  illustrated  by  the  saying  that  among  the  blind  the  one- 
eyed  are  kings.  Lucien's  eyes  were  now  busy  comparing 
Mme.  de  Bargeton  with  other  women,  just  as  she  herself  had 
contrasted  him  with  Ch^telet  on  the  previous  day.  And 
Mme.  de  Bargeton,  on  her  part,  permitted  herself  some 
strange  reflections  upon  her  lover.  The  poet  cut  a  poor  fig- 
ure notwithstanding  his  singular  beauty.  The  sleeves  of  his 
jacket  were  too  short ;  with  his  ill-cut  country  gloves  and  a 
waistcoat  too  scanty  for  him,  he  looked  prodigiously  ridicu- 
lous, compared  with  the  young  men  in  the  balcony — "  posi- 
tively pitiable,"  thought  Mme.  de  Bargeton.  Chatelet,  in- 
terested in  her  without  presumption,  taking  care  of  her  in  a 
manner  that  revealed  a  profound  passion  ;  Chatelet,  elegant, 
and  as  much  at  home  as  an  actor  treading  the  familiar  boards 
of  his  theatre,  in  two  days  had  recovered  all  the  ground  lost 
in  the  past  six  months. 

Ordinary  people  will  not  admit  that  our  sentiments  toward 
each  other  can  totally  change  in  a  moment,  and  yet  certain  it 
is  that  two  lovers  not  seldom  fly  apart  even  more  quickly 
than  they  drew  together.  In  Mme.  de  Bargeton  and  in 
Lucien  a  process  of  disenchantment  was  at  work ;  Paris  was 
the  cause.  Life  had  widened  out  before  the  poet's  eyes,  as 
society  came  to  wear  a  new  aspect  for  Louise.  Nothing  but 
an  accident  now  was  needed  to  sever  finally  the  bond  that 
united  them ;  nor  was  that  blow,  so  terrible  for  Lucien,  very 
long  delayed. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  set  Lucien  down  at  his  inn,  and  drove 
home  with  Chatelet,  to  the  intense  vexation  of  the  luckless 
lover. 

"What  will  they  say  about  me?"  he  wondered,  as  he 
climbed  the  stairs  to  his  dismal  room. 

"That  poor  fellow  is  uncommonly  dull,"  said  Chatelet, 
with  a  smile,  when  the  door  was  closed. 


14  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"That  is  the  way  with  those  who  have  a  world  of  thoughts 
in  their  heart  and  brain.  Men  who  have  so  much  in  them  to 
give  out  in  great  works  long  dreamed  of  profess  a  certain 
contempt  for  conversation,  a  commerce  in  which  the  intellect 
spends  itself  in  small  change,"  returned  the  haughty  Negre- 
pelisse.  She  still  had  courage  to  defend  Lucien,  but  less  for 
Lucien's  sake  than  for  her  own. 

"  I  grant  it  you  willingly,"  replied  the  Baron,  "  but  we 
live  with  human  beings  and  not  with  books.  There,  dear 
Nais,  I  see  how  it  is,  there  is  nothing  between  you  yet,  and 
I  am  delighted  that  it  is  so.  If  you  decide  to  bring  an  in- 
terest of  a  kind  hitherto  lacking  into  your  life,  let  it  not  be 
this  so-called  genius,  I  implore  you.  How  if  you  have  made 
a  mistake?  Suppose  that  in  a  few  days'  time,  when  you  have 
compared  him  with  men  whom  you  will  meet,  men  of  real 
ability,  men  who  have  distinguished  themselves  in  good  earn- 
est ;  suppose  that  you  should  discover,  dear  and  fair  siren, 
that  it  is  no  lyre-bearer  that  you  have  borne  into  port  on  your 
dazzling  shoulders,  but  a  little  ape,  with  no  manners  and  no 
capacity;  a  presumptuous  fool  who  may  be  a  wit  in  L'Hou- 
meau,  but  turns  out  a  very  ordinary  specimen  of  a  young  man 
in  Paris?  And,  after  all,  volumes  of  verse  come  out  every 
week  here,  the  worst  of  them  better  than  all  this  Chardon's 
poetry  put  together.  For  pity's  sake,  wait  and  compare  ! 
To-morrow,  Friday,  is  opera  night,"  he  continued,  as  the 
carriage  turned  into  the  Rue  Neuve-de-Luxembourg ;  "  Mme. 
d'Espard  has  the  box  of  the  first  gentlemen  of  the  chamber, 
and  will  take  you,  no  doubt.  I  shall  go  to  Mme.  de  Serizy's 
box  to  behold  you  in  your  glory.  They  are  giving  *Les 
Danaides.*  " 

**Good-by,"  said  she. 

Next  morning  Mme.  de  Bargeton  tried  to  arrange  a  suitable 
toilet  in  which  to  call  on  her  cousin,  Mme.  d'Espard.  The 
weather  was  rather  chilly.  Looking  through  the  dowdy  ward- 
robe from  AngoulSme,  she  found  nothing  better  than  a  certain 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  16 

green  velvet  gown,  trimmed  fantastically  enough.  Lucien, 
for  his  part,  felt  Uiat  he  must  go  at  once  for  his  celebrated 
blue  best  coat;  he" felt  aghast  at  the  thought  of  his  tight 
jacket,  and  determined  to  be  well  dressed,  lest  he  should 
meet  the  Marquise  d'Espard  or  receive  a  sudden  summons  to 
her  house.  He  must  have  his  luggage  at  once,  so  he  took  a 
cab,  and  in  two  hours'  time  spent  three  or  four  francs,  matter 
for  much  subsequent  reflection  on  the  scale  of  the  cost  of  living 
in  Paris.  Having  dressed  himself  in  his  best,  such  as  it  was, 
he  went  to  the  Rue  Ncuve-de-Luxembourg,  and  on  the  door- 
step encountered  Gentil  in  company  with  a  gorgeously  be- 
feathered  chasseur. 

"  I  was  just  going  round  to  you,  sir;  madame  gave  me  a 
line  for  you,"  said  Gentil,  ignorant  of  Parisian  forms  of  re- 
spect, and  accustomed  to  homely  provincial  ways.  The  chas- 
seur took  the  poet  for  a  servant. 

Lucien  tore  open  the  note,  and  learned  that  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  had  gone  to  spend  the  day  with  the  Marquise 
d'Espard.  She  was  going  to  the  opera  in  the  evening,  but 
she  told  Lucien  to  be  there  to  meet  her.  Her  cousin  per- 
mitted her  to  give  him  a  seat  in  her  box.  The  Marquise 
d'Espard  was  delighted  to  procure  the  young  poet  that 
pleasure. 

"Then  she  loves  me!  my  fears  were  all  nonsense  !  "  said 
Lucien  to  himself.  "  She  is  going  to  present  me  to  her 
cousin  this  very  evening." 

He  jumped  for  joy.  He  would  spend  the  day  that  separ- 
ated him  from  the  happy  evening  as  joyously  as  might  be. 
He  dashed  out  in  the  direction  of  the  Tuileries,  dreaming  of 
walking  there  until  it  was  time  to  dine  at  Vary's.  And  now, 
behold  Lucien  frisking  and  skipping,  light  of  foot  because  light 
of  heart,  on  his  way  to  the  Terrasse  des  Feuillants  to  take  a 
look  at  the  people  of  quality  on  promenade  there.  Pretty 
women  walk  arm  in  arm  with  men  of  fashion,  their  adorers; 
couples  greet  each  other  with  a  glance  as  they  pass;  how 


16  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

different  it  is  from  the  terrace  at  Beaulieu  !  How  far  finer 
the  birds  on  this  perch  than  the  Angouleme  species  !  It  is  as 
if  you  beheld  all  the  colors  that  glow  in  the  plumage  of  the 
feathered  tribes  of  India  and  America,  instead  of  the  sober 
European  families. 

Those  were  two  wretched  hours  that  Lucien  spent  in  the 
garden  of  the  Tuileries.  A  violent  revulsion  swept  through 
him,  and  he  sat  in  judgment  upon  himself 

In  the  first  place,  not  a  single  one  of  these  gilded  youths 
wore  a  swallow-tailed  coat.  The  few  exceptions,  one  or 
two  poor  wretches,  a  clerk  here  and  there,  an  annuitant 
from  the  Marais,  could  be  ruled  out  on  the  score  of  age ; 
and  hard  upon  the  discovery  of  a  distinction  between 
morning  and  evening  dress,  the  poet's  quick  sensibility  and 
keen  eyes  saw  likewise  that  his  shabby  old  clothes  were 
not  fit  to  be  seen ;  the  defects  in  his  coat  branded  that 
garment  as  ridiculous;  the  cut  was  old-fashioned,  the  color 
was  the  wrong  shade  of  blue,  the  collar  outrageously  un- 
gainly, the  coat-tails,  by  dint  of  long  wear,  overlapped  each 
other,  the  buttons  were  reddened,  and  there  were  fatal  white 
lines  along  the  seams.  Then  his  waistcoat  was  too  short, 
and  so  grotesquely  provincial,  that  he  hastily  buttoned  his 
coat  over  it;  and,  finally,  no  man  of  any  pretension  to 
fashion  wore  nankeen  trousers.  Well-dressed  men  wore 
charming  fancy  materials  or  immaculate  white,  and  every  one 
had  straps  to  his  trousers,  while  the  shrunken  hems  of  Lucien's 
nether  garments  manifested  a  violent  antipathy  for  the  heels 
of  shoes  which  they  wedded  with  obvious  reluctance.  Lucien 
wore  a  white  cravat  with  embroidered  ends ;  his  sister  had 
seen  that  M.  du  Hautoy  and  M.  de  Chandour  wore  such 
things,  and  hastened  to  make  similar  ones  for  her  brother. 
Here,  no  one  appeared  to  wear  white  cravats  of  a  morning 
except  a  few  grave  seniors,  elderly  capitalists,  and  austere 
public  functionaries,  until,  in  the  street  on  the  other  side  of  the 
railings,  Lucien  noticed  a  grocer's  boy  walking  along  the  Rue 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  17 

de  Rivoli  with  a  basket  on  his  head;  him  the  man  of  Angou- 
l6me  detected  in  the  act  of  sporting  a  cravat,  with  both  ends 
adorned  by  the  handiwork  of  some  adored  shop-girl.  The 
sight  was  a  stab  to  Lucien's  breast;  penetrating  straight  to 
that  organ  as  yet  undefined,  the  seat  of  our  sensibility,  the 
region  whither,  since  sentiment  has  had  any  existence,  the 
sons  of  men  carry  their  hands  in  any  excess  of  joy  or 
anguish.  Do  not  accuse  this  chronicle  of  puerility.  The 
rich,  to  be  sure,  never  having  experienced  sufferings  of  this 
kind,  may  think  them  incredibly  petty  and  small ;  but  the 
agonies  of  less  fortunate  mortals  are  as  well  worth  our  atten- 
tion as  crises  and  vicissitudes  in  the  lives  of  the  mighty  and 
privileged  ones  of  earth.  Is  not  the  pain  equally  great  for 
either  ?  Suffering  exalts  all  things.  And,  after  all,  suppose 
that  we  change  the  terms,  and  for  a  suit  of  clothes,  more  or 
less  fine,  put  instead  a  ribbon,  or  a  star,  or  a  title;  have  not 
brilliant  careers  been  tormented  by  reason  of  such  apparent 
trifles  as  these  ?  Add,  moreover,  that  for  those  people  who 
must  seem  to  have  that  which  they  have  not,  the  question  of 
clothes  is  of  enormous  importance,  and  not  unfrequently  the 
appearance  of  possession  is  the  shortest  road  to  possession  at 
a  later  day. 

A  cold  sweat  broke  out  over  Lucien  as  he  bethought  himself 
that  to-night  he  must  make  his  first  appearance  before  the 
Marquise  in  this  dress — the  Marquise  d'Espard,  relative  of  a 
first  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber,  a  woman  whose  house  was 
frequented  by  the  most  illustrious  among  illustrious  men  in 
every  field. 

"I  look  like  an  apothecary's  son,  a  regular  shop-drudge," 
he  raged  inwardly,  watching  the  youth  of  the  Faubourg  de 
Saint-Germain  pass  under  his  eyes ;  graceful,  spruce,  fashion- 
ably dressed,  with  a  certain  uniformity  of  air,  a  sameness  due 
to  a  fineness  of  contour,  and  a  certain  dignity  of  carriage  and 
expression  ;  though,  at  the  same  time,  each  one  differed  from 
the  rest  in  the  setting  by  which  he  had  chosen  to  bring  his 
2 


18  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

personal  characteristics  into  prominence.  Each  one  made 
the  most  of  his  personal  advantages.  Young  men  in  Paris 
understand  the  art  of  presenting  themselves  quite  as  well  as 
women.  Lucien  had  inherited  from  his  mother  the  invalu- 
able physical  distinction  of  race,  but  the  metal  was  still  in  the 
ore,  and  not  set  free  by  the  craftsman's  hand. 

His  hair  was  badly  cut.  Instead  of  holding  himself  upright 
with  an  elastic  corset,  he  felt  that  he  was  cooped  up  inside  a 
hideous  shirt-collar;  he  hung  his  dejected  head  without  resist- 
ance on  the  part  of  a  limp  cravat.  What  woman  could  guess 
that  a  handsome  foot  was  hidden  by  the  clumsy  boots  which 
he  had  brought  from  AngoulSme  ?  What  young  man  could 
envy  him  his  graceful  figure,  disguised  by  the  shapeless  blue 
sack  which  hitherto  he  had  mistakenly  believed  to  be  a  coat  ? 
What  bewitching  studs  he  saw  on  those  dazzling  white  shirt 
fronts,  his  own  looked  dingy  by  comparison ;  and  how  mar- 
velously  all  these  elegant  persons  were  gloved,  his  own  gloves 
were  only  fit  for  a  policeman  !  Yonder  was  a  youth  toying 
with  a  cane  exquisitely  mounted  ;  there,  another  with  dainty 
gold  studs  in  his  wristbands.  Yet  another  was  twisting  a 
charming  riding-whip  while  he  talked  with  a  woman  ;  there 
were  specks  of  mud  on  the  ample  folds  of  his  white  trousers, 
he  wore  clanking  spurs  and  a  tight-fitting  jacket,  evidently 
he  was  about  to  mount  one  of  the  two  horses  held  by  a  hop- 
o'-my-thumb  of  a  tiger.  A  young  man  who  went  past  drew 
a  watch  no  thicker  than  a  five-franc  piece  from  his  pocket, 
and  looked  at  it  with  the  air  of  a  person  who  is  either  too 
early  or  too  late  for  an  appointment. 

Lucien,  seeing  these  pretty  trifles,  hitherto  unimagined,  be- 
came aware  of  a  whole  world  of  indispensable  superfluities, 
and  shuddered  to  think  of  the  enormous  capital  needed  by  a 
professional  pretty  fellow  !  The  more  he  admired  these  gay 
and  careless  beings,  the  more  conscious  he  grew  of  his  own 
outlandishness ;  he  knew  that  he  looked  like  a  man  who  has 
no  idea  of  the  direction  of  the  streets,  who  stands  close  to 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  19 

the  Palais  Royal  and  cannot  find  it,  and  asks  his  way  to  the 
Louvre  of  a  passer-by,  who  tells  him,  "  Here  you  are."  Lu- 
cien  saw  a  great  gulf  fixed  between  him  and  this  new  world, 
and  asked  himself  how  he  might  cross  over,  for  he  meant  to 
be  one  of  these  delicate,  slim  youths  of  Paris,  these  young 
patricians  who  bowed  before  women  divinely  dressed  and 
divinely  fair.  For  one  kiss  from  one  of  these,  Lucien  was 
ready  to  be  cut  in  pieces,  like  Count  Philip  of  Konigsmark. 
Louise's  face  rose  up  somewhere  in  the  shadowy  background 
of  memory — compared  with  these  queens,  she  looked  like  an 
old  woman.  He  saw  women  whose  names  will  appear  in  the 
history  of  the  nineteenth  century,  women  no  less  famous  than 
the  queens  of  past  times  for  their  wit,  their  beauty,  or  their 
lovers ;  one  who  passed  was  the  heroine  Mile,  des  Touches, 
so  well  known  as  Camille  Maupin,  the  great  woman  of  letters, 
great  by  her  intellect,  great  no  less  by  her  beauty.  He  over- 
heard the  name  pronounced  by  those  who  went  by. 
"Ah  !  "  he  thought  to  himself,  "  she  is  Poetry." 
What  was  Mme.  de  Bargeton  in  comparison  with  this  angel 
in  all  the  glory  of  youth,  and  hope,  and  promise  of  the  future, 
with  that  sweet  smile  of  hers,  and  the  great  dark  eyes  with  all 
heaven  in  them,  and  the  glowing  light  of  the  sun  ?  She  was 
laughing  and  chatting  with  Mme.  Firmiani,  one  of  the  most 
charming  women  in  Paris.  A  voice  indeed  cried,  "  Intellect 
is  the  lever  by  which  to  move  the  world,"  but  another  voice 
cried  no  less  loudly  that  money  was  the  fulcrum. 

He  would  not  stay  any  longer  on  the  scene  of  his  collapse 
and  defeat,  and  went  toward  the  Palais  Royal.  He  did  not 
know  the  topography  of  his  quarter  yet,  and  was  obliged  to 
ask  his  way.  Then  he  went  to  Very's  and  ordered  dinner  by 
way  of  an  initiation  into  the  pleasures  of  Paris  and  a  solace 
for  his  discouragement.  A  bottle  of  Bordeaux,  oysters  from 
Ostend,  a  dish  of  fish,  a  partridge,  a  dish  of  macaroni  and 
dessert — this  was  the  ne plus  ultra  of  his  desire.  He  enjoyed 
this  little  debauch,  studying  the  while  how  to  give  the  Mar- 


90  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

quise  d'Espard  proof  of  his  wit,  and  redeem  the  shabbiness 
of  his  grotesque  accoutrements  by  the  display  of  intellectual 
riches.  The  total  of  the  bill  drew  him  down  from  these 
dreams,  and  left  him  the  poorer  by  fifty  of  the  francs  which 
were  to  have  gone  such  a  long  way  in  Paris.  He  could  have 
lived  in  Angouldme  for  a  month  on  the  price  of  that  dinner. 
Wherefore  he  closed  the  door  of  the  palace  with  awe,  think- 
ing as  he  did  so  that  he  should  never  set  foot  in  it  again. 

"  Eve  was  right,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  went  back 
under  the  stone  arcading  for  some  more  money.  "  There  is 
a  difference  between  Paris  prices  and  prices  in  L'Houmeau." 

He  gazed  in  at  the  tailors'  windows  on  the  way,  and 
thought  of  the  costumes  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries. 

*'No,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  will  not  appear  before  Mme. 
d'Espard  dressed  out  as  I  am." 

He  fled  to  his  inn,  fleet  as  a  stag,  rushed  up  to  his  room, 
took  out  a  hundred  crowns,  and  went  down  again  to  the 
Palais  Royal,  where  his  future  elegance  lay  scattered  over 
half  a  score  of  shops.  The  first  tailor  whose  door  he  entered 
tried  as  many  coats  upon  him  as  he  would  consent  to  put  on, 
and  persuaded  his  customer  that  all  were  in  the  very  latest 
fashion.  Lucien  came  out  the  owner  of  a  green  coat,  a  pair 
of  white  trousers,  and  a  "  fancy  waistcoat,"  for  which  outfit 
he  gave  two  hundred  francs.  Ere  long  he  found  a  very  ele- 
gant pair  of  ready-made  shoes  that  fitted  his  foot ;  and  finally, 
when  he  had  made  all  necessary  purchases,  he  ordered  the 
tradespeople  to  send  them  to  his  address,  and  inquired  for  a 
hairdresser.  At  seven  o'clock  that  evening  he  called  a  cab 
and  drove  away  to  the  opera,  curled  like  a  Saint  John  of  a 
procession  day,  elegantly  waistcoated  and  gloved,  but  feeling 
a  little  awkward  in  this  kind  of  sheath  in  which  he  found  him- 
self for  the  first  time. 

In  obedience  to  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  instructions,  he  asked 
for  the  box  reserved  for  the  first  gentlemen  of  the  bedchamber. 
The  man  at  the  box  office  looked  at  him,  and  beholding 


M.    DE    RUBEMPRE,"   SAID   THE    MARQUISE TAKE   THIS 

SEAT." 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  21 

Lucien  in  all  the  grandeur  assumed  for  the  occasion,  in  which 
he  looked  like  a  best  n^n  at  a  wedding,  asked  Lucien  for  his 
order. 

"I  have  no  order." 

"Then  you  cannot  go  in,"  said  the  man  at  the  box  office 
drily. 

"  But  I  belong  to  Madame  d'Espard's  party." 

"It  is  not  our  business  to  know  that,"  said  the  man,  who 
could  not  help  exchanging  a  barely  perceptible  smile  with  his 
colleague. 

A  carriage  stopped  under  the  peristyle  as  he  spoke.  A 
chasseur,  in  a  livery  which  Lucien  did  not  recognize,  let  down 
the  step,  and  two  women  in  evening  dress  came  out  of  the 
brougham.  Lucien  had  no  mind  to  lay  himself  open  to  an 
insolent  order  to  get  out  of  the  way  from  the  official.  He 
stepped  aside  to  let  the  two  ladies  pass. 

"  Why,  that  lady  is  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  whom  you  say 
you  know,  sir,"  the  man  said  ironically. 

Lucien  was  so  much  the  more  confounded  because  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  did  not  seem  to  recognize  him  in  his  new  plumage; 
but  when  he  stepped  up  to  her,  she  smiled  at  him  and  said — 

"This  has  fallen  out  wonderfully — come  !  " 

The  functionaries  at  the  box  office  grew  serious  again  as 
Lucien  followed  Mme.  de  Bargeton.  On  their  way  up  the 
great  staircase  the  lady  introduced  M.  de  Rubempr^  to  her 
cousin.  The  box  belonging  to  the  first  gentlemen  of  the 
bedchamber  is  situated  in  one  of  the  angles  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  so  that  its  occupants  see  and  are  seen  all  over  the 
theatre.  Lucien  took  his  seat  on  a  chair  behind  Mme.  de 
Bargeton,  thankful  to  be  in  the  shadow. 

"  Monsieur  de  Rubemprd,"  said  the  Marquise  with  flatter- 
ing graciousness,  "this  is  your  first  visit  to  the  opera,  is  it 
not  ?  You  must  have  a  view  of  the  house ;  take  this  seat,  sit  in 
front  of  the  box  ;  we  give  you  permission." 

Lucien  obeyed  as  the  first  act  came  to  an  end. 


22  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"You  have  made  good  use  of  your  time,"  Louise  said  in 
his  ear,  in  her  first  surprise  at  the  change  in  his  appearance. 

Louise  was  still  the  same.  The  near  presence  of  the  Mar- 
quise d'Espard,  a  Parisian  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  was  so  damag- 
ing to  her ;  the  brilliancy  of  the  Parisienne  brought  out  all 
the  defects  in  her  country  cousin  so  clearly  by  contrast,  that 
Lucien,  looking  out  over  the  fashionable  audience  in  the 
superb  building,  and  then  at  the  great  lady,  was  twice  enlight- 
ened, and  saw  poor  Ana'i's  de  Negrepelisse  as  she  really  was, 
as  Parisians  saw  her — a  tall,  lean,  withered  woman,  with  a 
pimpled  face  and  faded  complexion;  angular,  stiff;  affected 
in  her  manner  ;  pompous  and  provincial  in  her  speech  ;  and, 
above  all  these  things,  dowdily  dressed.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  creases  in  an  old  dress  from  Paris  still  bear  witness  to 
good  taste,  you  can  tell  what  the  gown  was  meant  for ;  but 
an  old  dress  made  in  the  country  is  inexplicable,  it  is  a  thing 
to  provoke  laughter.  There  was  neither  charm  nor  freshness 
about  the  dress  or  its  wearer ;  the  velvet,  like  the  complexion, 
had  seen  wear.  Lucien  felt  ashamed  to  have  fallen  in  love 
with  this  cuttle-fish  bone,  and  vowed  that  he  would  profit  by 
Louise's  next  fit  of  virtue  to  leave  her  for  good.  Having  an 
excellent  view  of  the  house,  he  could  see  the  opera  glasses 
pointed  at  the  aristocratic  box  par  excellence.  The  best- 
dressed  women  must  certainly  be  scrutinizing  Mme.  de  Barge- 
ton,  for  they  smiled  at  each  other  as  they  talked  among  them- 
selves. 

If  Mme.  d'Espard  knew  the  object  of  their  sarcasms  from 
those  feminine  smiles  and  gestures,  she  was  perfectly  insensi- 
ble to  them.  In  the  first  place,  anybody  must  see  that  her 
companion  was  a  poor  relation  from  the  country,  an  affliction 
with  which  any  Parisian  family  may  be  visited.  And,  in  the 
second,  when  her  cousin  had  spoken  to  her  of  her  dress  with 
manifest  misgivings,  she  had  reassured  AnaTs,  seeing  that, 
when  once  properly  dressed,  her  relative  would  very  easily 
acquire  the  tone  of  Parisian  society.     If  Mme.  de  Bargeton 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  23 

needed  polish,  on  the  other  hand,  she  possessed  the  native 
haughtiness  of  good^birth,  and  that  indescribable  something 
which  may  be  called  -'pedigree."  So,  on  Monday  her  turn 
would  come.  And,  moreover,  the  Marquise  knew  that  as 
soon  as  people  learned  that  the  stranger  was  her  cousin,  they 
would  suspend  their  banter  and  look  twice  before  they  con- 
demned her. 

Lucien  did  foresee  the  change  in  Louise's  appearance  shortly 
to  be  worked  by  a  scarf  about  her  throat,  a  pretty  dress,  an 
elegant  coiffure,  and  Mme.  d'Espard's  advice.  As  they  came 
up  the  staircase  even  now,  the  Marquise  told  her  cousin  not 
to  hold  her  handkerchief  unfolded  in  her  hand.  Good  or 
bad  taste  turns  upon  hundreds  of  such  almost  imperceptible 
shades,  which  a  quick-witted  woman  discerns  at  once,  while 
others  will  never  grasp  them.  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  plentifully 
apt,  was  more  than  clever  enough  to  discover  her  shortcom- 
ings. Mme.  d'Espard,  sure  that  her  pupil  would  do  her  credit, 
did  not  decline  to  form  her.  In  short,  the  compact  between 
the  two  women  had  been  confirmed  by  self-interest  on  either 
side. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton,  enthralled,  dazzled,  and  fascinated  by 
her  cousin's  manner,  wit,  and  acquaintances,  had  suddenly 
declared  herself  a  votary  of  the  idol  of  the  day.  She  had 
discerned  the  signs  of  the  occult  power  exerted  by  the  ambi- 
tious great  lady,  and  told  herself  that  she  could  gain  her  end 
as  the  satellite  of  this  star,  so  she  had  been  outspoken  in  her 
admiration.  The  Marquise  was  not  insensible  to  the  artlessly 
admitted  conquest.  She  took  an  interest  in  her  cousin,  seeing 
that  she  was  weak  and  poor ;  she  was,  beside,  not  indisposed 
to  take  a  pupil  with  whom  to  found  a  school,  and  asked  noth- 
ing better  than  to  have  a  sort  of  lady-in-waiting  in  Mme.  de 
Bargeton,  a  dependent  who  would  sing  her  praises,  a  treasure 
even  more  scarce  among  Parisian  women  than  a  stanch  and 
loyal  critic  among  the  literary  tribe.  The  flutter  of  curiosity 
in  the  house  was  too  marked  to  be  ignored,  however,  and 


24  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

Mme.  d'Espard  politely  endeavored  to  turn  her  cousin's  mind 
from  the  truth. 

"If  anyone  comes  to  our  box,"  she  said,  "perhaps  we 
may  discover  the  cause  to  which  we  owe  the  honor  of  the 
interest  that  these  ladies  are  taking " 

'*  I  have  a  strong  suspicion  that  it  is  my  old  velvet  gown 
and  Angoumoisin  air  which  Parisian  ladies  find  amusing," 
Mme.  de  Bargeton  answered,  laughing. 

**  No,  it  is  not  you  ;  it  is  something  that  I  cannot  explain," 
she  added,  turning  to  the  poet,  and,  as  she  looked  at  him  for 
the  first  time,  it  seemed  to  strike  her  that  he  was  singularly 
dressed. 

"  There  is  Monsieur  du  Chatelet,"  exclaimed  Lucien  at  that 
very  moment,  and  he  pointed  a  finger  toward  Mme.  de 
Sdrizy's  box,  which  the  renovated  beau  had  just  entered. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  bit  her  lips  with  chagrin  as  she  saw  that 
gesture,  and  saw  beside  the  Marquise's  ill-suppressed  smile  of 
contemptuous  astonishment.  "  Where  does  the  young  man 
come  from?"  her  look  said,  and  Louise  felt  humbled  through 
her  love,  one  of  the  sharpest  of  all  pangs  for  a  Frenchwoman, 
a  mortification  for  which  she  cannot  forgive  her  lover. 

In  these  circles  where  trifles  are  of  such  importance,  a 
gesture  or  a  word  at  the  outset  is  enough  to  ruin  a  new-comer. 
It  is  the  principal  merit  of  fine  manners  and  the  highest 
breeding  that  they  produce  the  effect  of  a  harmonious  whole, 
in  which  every  element  is  so  blended  that  nothing  is  startling 
or  obtrusive.  Even  those  who  break  the  laws  of  this  science, 
either  through  ignorance  or  carried  away  by  some  impulse, 
must  comprehend  that  it  is  with  social  intercourse  as  with 
music,  a  single  discordant  note  is  a  complete  negation  of  the 
art  itself,  for  the  harmony  exists  only  when  all  its  conditions 
are  observed  down  to  the  least  particular. 

"Who  is  the  gentleman?"  asked  Mme.  d'Espard,  looking 
toward  Chatelet.  "  And  have  you  made  Madame  de  Serizy's 
acquaintance  already? " 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  25 

"  Oh  !  is  that  the  famous  Madame  de  Serizy  who  has  had  so 
many  adventures  an,d  yet  goes  everywhere?  " 

"An  unheard-of  thing,  my  dear,  explicable  but  unexplained. 
The  most  formidable  men  are  her  friends,  and  why  ?  Nobody 
dares  to  fathom  the  mystery.  Then  is  this  person  the  lion  of 
Angouleme  ? ' ' 

"Well,  Monsieur  le  Baron  du  Chatelet  has  been  a  good 
deal  talked  about,"  answered  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  moved  by 
vanity  to  give  her  adorer  the  title  which  she  herself  had  called 
in  question.  "  He  was  Monsieur  de  Montriveau's  traveling 
companion." 

"Ah  !  "  said  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  "I  never  hear  that 
name  without  thinking  of  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  poor 
thing.  She  vanished  like  a  falling  star.  That  is  Monsieur 
de  Rastignac  with  Madame  de  Nucingen,"  she  continued, 
indicating  another  box ;  "  she  is  the  wife  of  a  contractor,  a 
banker,  a  city  man,  a  broker  on  a  large  scale ;  he  forced  his 
way  into  society  with  his  money,  and  they  say  that  he  is  not 
very  scrupulous  as  to  the  methods  of  making  it.  He  is  at 
endless  pains  to  establish  his  credit  as  a  stanch  upholder  of 
the  Bourbons,  and  has  tried  already  to  gain  admittance  into 
my  set.  When  his  wife  took  Madame  de  Langeais'  box,  she 
thought  that  she  could  take  her  charm,  her  wit,  and  her  suc- 
cess as  well.  It  is  the  old  fable  of  the  jay  in  the  peacock's 
feathers  !  ' ' 

"  How  do  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Rastignac  manage  to 
keep  their  son  in  Paris,  when,  as  we  know,  their  income  is 
under  a  thousand  crowns?"  asked  Lucien,  in  his  astonish- 
ment at  Rastignac's  elegant  and  expensive  dress. 

"It  is  easy  to  see  that  you  come  from  Angoulgme,"  said 
Mme.  d'Espard,  ironically  enough,  as  she  continued  to  gaze 
through  her  opera-glass. 

Her  remark  was  lost  upon  Lucien  ;  the  all-absorbing  spec- 
tacle of  the  boxes  prevented  him  from  thinking  of  anything 
else.     He  guessed  the  comments  made  upon  Mme.  de  Bar- 


26  A   PROVINCIAL  A 7^  PARIS. 

geton,  and  saw  that  he  himself  was  an  object  of  no  small 
curiosity.  Louise,  on  the  other  hand,  was  exceedingly  mor- 
tified by  the  evident  slight  esteem  in  which  the  Marquise 
held  Lucien's  beauty. 

"  He  cannot  be  so  handsome  as  I  thought  him,"  she  said 
to  herself;  and  between  "not  so  handsome"  and  "not  so 
clever  as  I  thought  him  ' '  there  was  but  one  step. 

The  curtain  fell.  Chatelet  was  paying  a  visit  to  the  Duchesse 
de  Carigliano  in  an  adjoining  box;  Mme.  de  Bargeton  ac- 
knowledged his  bow  by  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head. 
Nothing  escapes  a  woman  of  the  world ;  Ch§,telet's  air  of 
distinction  was  not  lost  upon  Mme.  d'Espard.  Just  at  that 
moment  four  personages,  four  Parisian  celebrities,  came  into 
the  box,  one  after  another. 

The  most  striking  feature  of  the  first  comer,  M.  de  Marsay, 
famous  for  the  passions  which  he  had  inspired,  was  his  girlish 
beauty ;  but  its  softness  and  effeminacy  were  counteracted  by 
the  expression  of  his  eyes,  unflinching,  steady,  untamed,  and 
hard  as  a  tiger's.  He  was  loved  and  he  was  feared.  Lucien 
was  no  less  handsome ;  but  Lucien's  expression  was  so  gentle, 
his  blue  eyes  so  limpid,  that  he  scarcely  seemed  to  possess  the 
strength  and  power  which  attract  women  so  strongly.  Noth- 
ing, moreover,  so  far  had  brought  out  the  poet's  merits ; 
while  de  Marsay,  with  his  flow  of  spirits,  his  confidence  in  his 
power  to  please,  and  appropriate  style  of  dress,  eclipsed  every 
rival  by  his  presence.  Judge,  therefore,  the  kind  of  figure 
that  Lucien,  stiff",  starched,  unbending  in  clothes  as  new  and 
unfamiliar  as  his  surroundings,  was  likely  to  cut  in  de  Mar- 
say's  vicinity.  De  Marsay  with  his  wit  and  charm  of  manner 
was  privileged  to  be  insolent.  From  Mme.  d'Espard's  recep- 
tion of  this  personage  his  importance  was  at  once  evident  to 
Mme.  de  Bargeton. 

The  second  comer  was  a  Vandenesse,  the  cause  of  the 
scandal  in  which  Lady  Dudley  was  concerned.  Felix  de 
Vandenesse,  amiable,  intellectual,  and  modest,  had  none  of 


A   PROVINCIAL    AT  PARIS.  27 

the  characteristics  on  which  de  Marsay  prided  himself  and 
owed  his  success  to  diametrically  opposed  qualities.  He  had 
been  warmly  recommended  to  Mme.  d'Espard  by  her  cousin 
Mme.  de  Mortsauf. 

The  third  was  General  de  Montriveau,  the  author  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Langeais'  ruin. 

The  fourth,  M.  de  Canalis,  one  of  the  famous  poets  of  the 
day,  and  as  yet  a  newly  risen  celebrity,  was  prouder  of  his 
birth  than  of  his  genius,  and  dangled  in  Mme.  d'Espard's 
train  by  way  of  concealing  his  love  for  the  Duchesse  de  Chau- 
lieu.  In  spite  of  his  graces  and  the  affectation  that  spoiled 
them,  it  was  easy  to  discern  the  vast,  lurking  ambitions  that 
plunged  him  at  a  later  day  into  the  storms  of  political  life. 
A  face  that  might  be  called  insignificantly  pretty  and  caress- 
ing manners  thinly  disguised  the  man's  deeply  rooted  egoism 
and  habit  of  continually  calculating  the  chances  of  a  career 
which  at  the  time  looked  problematical  enough  ;  though  his 
choice  of  Mme.  de  Chaulieu  (a  woman  past  forty)  made  in- 
terest for  him  at  court,  and  brought  him  the  applause  of  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain  and  the  gibes  of  the  liberal  party, 
who  dubbed  him  "  the  poet  of  the  sacristy." 

Mme.  de  Bargeton,  with  these  remarkable  figures  before 
her,  no  longer  wondered  at  the  slight  esteem  in  which  the 
Marquise  held  Lucien's  good  looks.  And  when  conversation 
began,  when  intellects  so  keen,  so  subtle,  were  revealed  in 
two-edged  words  with  more  meaning  and  depth  in  them  than 
Anais  de  Bargeton  heard  in  a  month  of  talk  at  AngoulSme ; 
and,  most  of  all,  when  Canalis  uttered  a  sonorous  phrase, 
summing  up  a  materialistic  epoch,  and  gilding  it  with  poetry 
— then  Ana'i's  felt  all  the  truth  of  Chatelet's  dictum  of  the 
previous  evening.  Lucien  was  nothing  to  her  now.  Every 
one  cruelly  ignored  the  unlucky  stranger  ;  he  was  so  much 
like  a  foreigner  listening  to  an  unknown  language  that  the 
Marquise  d'Espard  took  pity  on  him.     She  turned  to  Canalis. 

"Permit  rae  to  introduce  Monsieur  de  Rubempre,"  she 


28  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

said.  **  You  rank  too  high  in  the  world  of  letters  not  to  wel- 
come a  debutant.  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  is  from  Angoulgme, 
and  will  need  your  influence,  no  doubt,  with  the  powers  that 
bring  genius  to  light.  So  far,  he  has  no  enemies  to  help  him 
to  success  by  their  attacks  upon  him.  Is  there  enough  orig- 
inality in  the  idea  of  obtaining  for  him  by  friendship  all  that 
hatred  has  done  for  you  to  tempt  you  to  make  the  experi- 
ment?" 

The  four  new-comers  all  looked  at  Lucien  while  the  Mar- 
quise was  speaking.  De  Marsay,  only  a  couple  of  paces 
away,  put  up  an  eyeglass  and  looked  from  Lucien  to  Mme.  de 
Bargeton,  and  then  again  at  Lucien,  coupling  them  with  some 
mocking  thought,  cruelly  mortifying  to  both.  He  scruti- 
nized them  as  if  they  had  been  a  pair  of  strange  animals,  and 
then  he  smiled.  The  smile  was  like  a  stab  to  the  distinguished 
provincial.  F6lix  de  Vandenesse  assumed  a  charitable  air. 
Montriveau,  with  insolent  contempt,  looked  Lucien  through' 
and  through. 

"Madame,"  M.  de  Canalis  answered  with  a  bow,  "I  will 
obey  you,  in  spite  of  the  selfish  instinct  which  prompts  us  to 
show  a  rival  no  favor ;  but  you  have  accustomed  us  to 
miracles." 

"Very  well,  do  me  the  pleasure  of  dining  with  me  on 
Monday  with  Monsieur  de  Rubempr6,  and  you  can  talk  of 
matters  literary  at  your  ease.  I  will  try  to  enlist  some  of  the 
tyrants  of  the  world  of  letters  and  the  great  people  who  pro- 
tect them,  the  author  of  '  Ourika,'  and  one  or  two  young 
poets  with  sound  views." 

"Madame  la  Marquise,"  said  de  Marsay,  "if  you  give 
your  support  to  this  gentleman  for  his  intellect,  I  will  support 
him  for  his  good  looks.  I  will  give  him  advice  which  will 
put  him  in  a  fair  way  to  be  the  luckiest  dandy  in  Paris.  After 
that,  he  may  be  a  poet — if  he  has  a  mind." 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  thanked  her  cousin  by  a  grateful  glance. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  jealous  of  intellect,"  Mon- 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  29 

triveau  said,  turning  to  de  Marsay;  "good  fortune  is  the 
death  of  a  poet." 

"  Is  that  wliy  your  lordship  is  thinking  of  marriage?  "  in- 
quired the  dandy,  addressing  Canalis,  and  watching  Mme. 
d'Espard  to  see  if  the  words  went  home. 

Canalis  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  Mme.  d'Espard,  Mme. 
de  Chaulieu's  niece,  began  to  laugh.  Lucien  in  his  new 
clothes  felt  as  if  he  were  an  Egyptian  statue  in  its  narrow 
sheath ;  he  was  ashamed  that  he  had  nothing  to  say  for  him- 
self all  this  while.  At  length  he  turned  gracefully  to  the 
Marquise. 

"  After  your  kindness,  madame,  I  am  pledged  to  make  no 
failures,"  he  said  in  those  soft  tones  of  his. 

Ch^telet  came  in  as  he  spoke ;  he  had  seen  Montriveau, 
and  by  hook  or  crook  snatched  at  the  chance  of  a  good  in- 
troduction to  the  Marquise  d'Espard  through  one  of  the  kings 
of  Paris.  He  bowed  to  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  and  begged 
Mme.  d'Espard  to  pardon  him  for  the  liberty  he  took  in  in- 
vading her  box ;  he  had  been  separated  so  long  from  his 
traveling  companion  !  Montriveau  and  Chatelet  met  for  the 
first  time  since  they  parted  in  the  desert. 

**  To  part  in  the  desert,  and  meet  again  in  the  opera 
house  !  "  said  Lucien. 

"  Quite  a  theatrical  meeting  !  "  said  Canalis. 

Montriveau  introduced  the  Baron  du  Chatelet  to  the  Mar- 
quise, and  the  Marquise  received  her  royal  highness'  ex-secre- 
tary the  more  graciously  because  she  had  seen  that  he  had 
been  very  well  received  in  three  boxes  already.  Mme.  de 
Serizy  knew  none  but  unexceptionable  people,  and,  moreover, 
he  was  Montriveau's  traveling  companion.  So  potent  was  this 
last  credential  that  Mme.  de  Bargeton  saw  from  the  manner 
of  the  group  that  they  accepted  Chatelet  as  one  of  themselves 
without  demur.  Chatelet  sultan's  airs  in  Angoulgme  were 
suddenly  explained. 

At  length  the  Baron  saw  Lucien,  and  favored  him  with  a 


80  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

cool,  disparaging  little  nod,  indicative  to  men  of  the  world  of 
the  recipient's  inferior  station.  A  sardonic  expression  ac- 
companied the  greeting,  "How  does  he  come  here?"  he 
seemed  to  say.  This  was  not  lost  on  those  who  saw  it ;  for 
de  Marsay  leaned  toward  Montriveau,  and  said  in  tones 
audible  to  Chatelet — 

**  Do  ask  him  who  the  queer-looking  young  fellow  is  that 
looks  like  a  dummy  at  a  tailor's  store-door." 

Chatelet  spoke  a  few  words  in  his  traveling  companion's 
ear,  and,  while  apparently  renewing  his  acquaintance,  no  doubt 
cut  his  rival  to  pieces. 

If  Lucien  was  surprised  at  the  apt  wit  and  the  subtlety  with 
which  these  gentlemen  formulated  their  replies,  he  felt  be- 
wildered with  epigram  and  repartee,  and,  most  of  all,  by  their 
off-hand  way  of  talking  and  their  ease  of  manner.  The  ma- 
terial luxury  of  Paris  had  alarmed  him  that  morning ;  at  night 
he  saw  the  same  lavish  expenditure  of  intellect.  By  what 
mysterious  means,  he  asked  himself,  did  these  people  make 
such  piquant  reflections  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  those 
repartees  which  he  could  only  have  made  after  much  ponder- 
ing. And  not  only  were  they  at  ease  in  their  speech,  they 
were  at  ease  in  their  dress,  nothing  looked  new,  nothing 
looked  old,  nothing  about  them  was  conspicuous,  everything 
attracted  the  eyes.  The  fine  gentleman  of  to-day  was  the 
same  yesterday  and  would  be  the  same  to-morrow.  Lucien 
guessed  that  he  himself  looked  as  if  he  were  dressed  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  de  Marsay,  addressing  Felix  de 
Vandenesse,  *'  that  young  Rastignac  is  soaring  away  like  a 
paper-kite.  Look  at  him  in  the  Marquise  de  Listomere's 
box ;  he  is  making  progress,  he  is  putting  up  his  eyeglass  at 
us!  He  knows  this  gentleman,  no  doubt,"  added  the  dandy, 
speaking  to  Lucien,  but  looking  elsewhere. 

"He  can  scarcely  fail  to  have  heard  the  name  of  a  great 
man  of  whom  we  are   proud,"  said   Mme.    de   Bargeton. 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  31 

**  Quite  lately  his  sister  was  present  when  Monsieur  de  Ru- 
bempre  read  us  some  very  fine  poetry." 

Felix  de  Vandenesse  and  de  Marsay  then  took  leave  of  the 
Marquise  d'Espard,  and  went  off  to  Mme.  de  Listom^re, 
Vandenesse's  sister.  The  second  act  began,  and  the  three 
were  left  to  themselves  again.  The  curious  women  learned 
how  Mme.  de  Bargeton  came  to  be  there  from  some  of  the 
party,  while  the  others  announced  the  arrival  of  a  poet  and 
made  fun  of  his  costume.  Canal  is  went  back  to  the  Duchesse 
de  Chaulieu  and  no  more  was  seen  of  him. 

Lucien  was  glad  when  the  rising  of  the  curtain  produced  a 
diversion.  All  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  misgivings  with  regard 
to  Lucien  were  increased  by  the  marked  attention  which  the 
Marquise  d'Espard  had  shown  to  Chatelet ;  her  manner  toward 
the  Baron  was  very  different  from  the  patronizing  affability 
with  which  she  treated  Lucien.  Mme.  de  Listomere's  box 
was  full  during  the  second  act,  and,  to  all  appearance,  the 
talk  turned  upon  Mme.  de  Bargeton  and  Lucien.  Young 
Rastignac  was  evidently  entertaining  the  party  ;  he  had  raised 
laughter  that  needs  fresh  fuel  every  day  in  Paris,  the  laughter 
that  seizes  upon  a  topic  and  exhausts  it,  and  leaves  it  stale 
and  threadbare  in  a  moment.  Mme.  d'Espard  grew  uneasy. 
She  knew  that  an  ill-natured  speech  is  not  long  in  coming  to 
the  ears  of  those  whom  it  will  wound,  and  waited  till  the  end 
of  the  act. 

After  a  revulsion  of  feeling  such  as  had  taken  place  in  Mme. 
de  Bargeton  and  Lucien,  strange  things  come  to  pass  in  a 
brief  space  of  time,  and  any  revolution  within  us  is  controlled 
by  laws  that  work  with  great  swiftness.  ChStelet's  sage  and 
politic  words  as  to  Lucien,  spoken  on  the  way  home  from  the 
Vaudeville,  were  fresh  in  Louise's  memory.  Every  phrase  was 
a  prophecy;  it  seemed  as  if  Lucien  had  set  himself  to  fulfill 
the  predictions  one  by  one.  When  Lucien  and  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  had  parted  with  their  illusions  concerning  each 
other,  the  luckless  youth,  with  a  destiny  not  unlike  Rousseau's, 


32  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

went  so  far  in  his  predecessor's  footsteps  that  he  was  capti- 
vated by  the  great  lady  and  smitten  with  Mme.  d'Espard  at 
first  sight.  Young  men  and  men  who  remember  their  young 
emotions  can  see  that  this  was  only  what  might  have  been 
looked  for.  Mme.  d'Espard  with  her  dainty  ways,  her  delicate 
enunciation,  and  the  refined  tones  of  her  voice ;  the  fragile 
woman  so  envied,  of  such  high  place  and  high  degree,  ap- 
peared before  tlie  poet  as  Mme.  de  Bargeton  had  appeared  to 
him  in  Angouldme.  His  fickle  nature  prompted  him  to  desire 
influence  in  that  lofty  sphere  at  once,  and  the  surest  way  to 
secure  such  influence  was  to  possess  the  woman  who  exerted 
it,  and  then  everything  would  be  his.  He  had  succeeded  at 
Angoul&me,  why  should  he  not  succeed  in  Paris  ? 

Involuntarily,  and  despite  the  novel  counter-fascination  of 
the  stage,  his  eyes  turned  to  this  Celimdne  in  her  splendor; 
he  glanced  furtively  at  her  every  moment ;  the  longer  he 
looked,  the  more  he  desired  to  look  at  her.  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  caught  the  gleam  in  Lucien's  eyes,  and  saw  that  he 
found  the  Marquise  more  interesting  than  the  opera.  If 
Lucien  had  forsaken  her  for  the  fifty  daughters  of  Danaus,  she 
could  have  borne  his  desertion  with  equanimity ;  but  another 
glance — bolder,  more  ardent,  and  unmistakable  than  any  be- 
fore— revealed  the  state  of  Lucien's  feelings.  She  grew  jealous, 
but  not  so  much  for  the  future  as  for  the  past. 

"He  never  gave  me  such  a  look?"  she  thought.  "Dear 
me  !     Chatelet  was  right !  " 

Then  she  saw  that  she  had  made  a  mistake ;  and  when  a 
woman  once  begins  to  repent  of  her  weaknesses  she  sponges 
out  the  whole  past.  Every  one  of  Lucien's  glances  roused  her 
indignation,  but  to  all  outward  appearance  she  was  calm.  De 
Marsay  came  back  in  the  interval,  bringing  M.  de  Listomdre 
with  him ;  and  that  serious  person  and  the  young  coxcomb 
soon  informed  the  Marquise  that  the  wedding-guest  in  his 
holiday  suit,  whom  she  had  the  bad  luck  to  have  in  her  box, 
had  as  much  right  to  the  appellation  of  Rubempr6  as  a  Jew  to 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  33 

a  baptismal  name.  Liicien's  father  was  an  apothecary  named 
Chardon.  M.  de  Rastignac,  who  knew  all  about  Angouleme, 
had  set  several  boxes  laughing  already  at  the  mummy  whom 
the  Marquise  styled  her  cousin,  and  at  the  Marquise's  fore- 
thought in  having  an  apothecary  at  hand  to  sustain  an  artificial 
life  with  drugs.  In  short,  de  Marsay  brought  a  selection 
from  the  thousand-and-one  jokes  made  by  Parisians  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  and  no  sooner  uttered  than  forgotten. 
Ch§.telet  was  at  the  back  of  it  all  and  the  real  author  of  this 
Punic  faith. 

Mme.  d'Espard  turned  to  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  put  up  her 
fan,  and  said,  "My  dear,  tell  me  if  your  protege's  name  is 
really  Monsieur  de  Rubempre?  " 

"  He  has  assumed  his  mother's  name,"  said  Anals,  un- 
easily. 

**  But  who  was  his  father  ?  " 

"  His  father's  name  was  Chardon." 

"And  what  was  this  Chardon  ?  "  » 

"A  druggist." 

"My  dear  friend,  I  felt  quite  sure  that  all  Paris  could  not 
be  laughing  at  any  one  whom  I  took  up.  I  do  not  care  to 
stay  here  when  wags  come  in  in  high  glee  because  there  is  an 
apothecary's  son  in  ray  box.  If  you  will  follow  my  advice,  we 
will  leave  it,  and  at  once." 

Mme.  d'Espard's  expression  was  insolent  enough  ;  Lucien 
was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  her  change  of  countenance.  He 
thought  that  his  waistcoat  was  in  bad  taste,  which  was  true  ; 
and  that  his  coat  looked  like  a  caricature  of  the  fashion,  which 
was  likewise  true.  He  discerned,  in  bitterness  of  soul,  that 
he  must  put  himself  in  the  hands  of  an  expert  tailor,  and 
vowed  that  he  would  go  the  very  next  morning  to  the  most 
celebrated  artist  in  Paris.  On  Monday  he  would  hold  his  own 
with  the  men  at  the  Marquise's  house. 

Yet,  lost  in  thought  though  he  was,  he  saw  the  third  act  to 
an  end,  and,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  gorgeous  scene  upon 
3 


34  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

the  Stage,  dreamed  out  his  dream  of  Mme.  d'Espard.  He  was 
in  despair  over  her  sudden  coldness ;  it  gave  a  strange  check 
to  the  ardent  reasoning  through  which  he  advanced  upon  this 
new  love,  undismayed  by  the  immense  difficulties  in  the  way, 
difficulties  which  he  saw  and  resolved  to  conquer.  He  roused 
himself  from  these  deep  musings  to  look  once  more  at  his  new 
idol,  turned  his  head,  and  saw  that  he  was  alone ;  he  had  heard 
a  faint  rustling  sound,  the  door  closed — Mme.  d'Espard  had 
taken  her  cousin  with  her.  Lucien  was  surprised  to  the  last 
degree  by  the  sudden  desertion  ;  he  did  not  think  long  about 
it,  however,  simply  because  it  was  inexplicable. 

When  the  carriage  was  rolling  along  the  Rue  de  Richelieu 
on  the  way  to  the  Faubourg  Saint-Honor6,  the  Marquise 
spoke  to  her  cousin  in  a  tone  of  suppressed  irritation. 

*'  My  dear  child,  what  are  you  thinking  about  ?  Pray  wait 
till  an  apothecary's  son  has  made  a  name  for  himself  before 
you  trouble  yourself  about  him.  The  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu 
does  not  acknowledge  Canalis  even  now,  and  he  is  famous 
and  a  man  of  good  family.  This  young  fellow  is  neither  your 
son  nor  your  lover,  I  suppose  ? ' '  added  the  haughty  dame, 
with  a  keen,  inquisitive  glance  at  her  cousin. 

**  How  fortunate  for  me  that  I  kept  the  little  scapegrace  at 
a  distance  !  "  thought  Mme.  de  Bargeton. 

"Very  well,"  continued  the  Marquise,  taking  the  expres- 
sion in  her  cousin's  eyes  for  an  answer,  **  drop  him,  I  beg  of 
you.  Taking  an  illustrious  name  in  that  way  !  Why,  it  is  a 
piece  of  impudence  that  will  meet  with  its  desserts  in  society. 
It  is  his  mother's  name,  I  dare  say ;  but  just  remember,  dear, 
that  the  King  alone  can  confer,  by  a  special  ordinance,  the 
title  of  de  Rubemprd  on  the  son  of  a  daughter  of  the  house. 
If  she  made  a  mtsalliance,  the  favor  would  be  enormous,  only 
to  be  granted  to  vast  wealth,  or  conspicuous  services,  or  very 
powerful  influence.  The  young  man  looks  like  a  shopman  in 
his  Sunday  suit ;  evidently  he  is  neither  wealthy  nor  noble ; 
he  has  a  fine  head,  but  he  seems  to  me  to  be  very  silly ;  he 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  35 

has  no  idea  what  to  do,  and  has  nothing  to  say  for  himself; 
in  fact,  he  has  no  breeding.    How  came  you  to  take  him  up  ?  " 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  renounced  Lucien  as  Lucien  himself  had 
renounced  her ;  a  ghastly  fear  lest  her  cousin  should  learn  the 
manner  of  her  journey  shot  through  her  mind. 

"Dear  cousin,  I  am  in  despair  that  I  have  compromised 
you." 

"People  do  not  compromise  me,"  Mme.  d'Espard  said, 
smiling;  "I  am  only  thinking  of  you." 

"  But  you  have  asked  him  to  dine  with  you  on  Monday." 

**  I  shall  be  ill,"  the  Marquise  said  quickly  ;  "  you  can  tell 
him  so,  and  I  shall  leave  orders  that  he  is  not  to  be  admitted 
under  either  name." 

During  the  interval  Lucien  noticed  that  every  one  was 
walking  up  and  down  in  the  lobby.  He  would  do  the  same. 
In  the  first  place,  not  one  of  Mme.  d'Espard's  visitors  recog- 
nized him  nor  paid  any  attention  to  him,  their  conduct  seemed 
nothing  less  than  extraordinary  to  the  provincial  poet ;  and, 
secondly,  Chatelet,  on  whom  he  tried  to  hang,  watched  him 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  and  fought  shy  of  him.  Lucien 
walked  to  and  fro  watching  the  eddying  crowd  of  men,  till  he 
felt  convinced  that  his  costume  was  absurd,  and  he  went  back 
to  his  box,  ensconced  himself  in  a  corner,  and  stayed  there 
until  the  end.  At  times  he  thought  of  nothing  but  the  magnifi- 
cent spectacle  of  the  ballet  in  the  great  Inferno  scene  in  the 
fifth  act ;  sometimes  the  sight  of  the  house  absorbed  him, 
sometimes  his  own  thoughts ;  he  had  seen  society  in  Paris, 
and  the  sight  had  stirred  him  to  the  depths. 

"  So  this  is  my  kingdom,"  he  said  to  himself;  **  this  is  the 
world  that  I  must  conquer." 

As  he  walked  home  through  the  streets  he  thought  over  all 
that  had  been  said  by  Mme.  d'Espard's  courtiers  ;  memory 
reproducing  with  strange  faithfulness  their  demeanor,  their 
gestures,  their  manner  of  coming  and  going. 

Next  day,  toward  noon,  Lucien  betook  himself  to  Staub, 


3d  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

the  great  tailor  of  that  day.  Partly  by  dint  of  entreaties,  and 
partly  by  virtue  of  cash,  Lucien  succeeded  in  obtaining  a 
promise  that  his  clothes  should  be  ready  in  time  for  the  great 
day.  Staub  went  so  far  as  to  give  his  word  that  a  perfectly 
elegant  coat,  a  waistcoat,  and  a  pair  of  trousers  should  be 
forthcoming.  Lucien  then  ordered  linen  and  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs, a  little  outfit,  in  short,  of  a  linen  draper,  and  a 
celebrated  bootmaker  measured  him  for  shoes  and  boots.  He 
bought  a  neat  walking-cane  at  Verdier's ;  he  went  to  Mme. 
Irlande  for  gloves  and  shirt  studs ;  in  short,  he  did  his  best 
to  reach  the  climax  of  dandyism.  When  he  had  satisfied  all 
his  fancies,  he  went  to  the  Rue  Neuve-de-Luxembourg  and 
found  that  Louise  had  gone  out. 

"She  was  dining  with  Madame  la  Marquise  d'Espard," 
her  maid  said,  "and  would  not  be  back  until  late." 

Lucien  dined  for  two  francs  at  a  restaurant  in  the  Palais 
Royal,  and  went  to  bed  early.  The  next  day  was  Sunday. 
He  went  to  Louise's  lodging  at  eleven  o'clock.  Louise  had 
not  yet  risen.     At  two  o'clock  he  returned  once  more. 

"Madame  cannot  see  anybody  yet,"  reported  Albertine, 
"  but  she  gave  me  a  line  for  you." 

"Cannot  see  anybody  yet?"  repeated  Lucien.  "But  I 
am  not  anybody " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  Albertine  answered  very  impertinently; 
and  Lucien,  less  surprised  by  Albertine's  answer  than  by  a 
note  from  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  took  the  billet  and  read  the 
following  discouraging  lines : 

"  Mme.  d'Espard  is  not  well;  she  will  not  be  able  to  see 
you  on  Monday.  I  am  not  feeling  very  well  myself,  but  I  am 
about  to  dress  and  go  to  keep  her  company.  I  am  in  despair 
over  this  little  disappointment ;  but  your  talents  reassure  me, 
you  will  make  your  way  without  charlatanism." 

"  And  no  signature  !  "  Lucien  said  to  himself.     He  found 


A   PROVINCIAL    AT  PARIS.  37 

himself  in  the  Tuileries  before  he  knew  whither  he  was  walking. 
With  the  gift  of  second-sight,  which  accompanies  genius,  he 
began  to  suspect  that  the  chilly  note  was  but  a  warning  of 
the  catastrophe  to  come.  Lost  in  thought,  he  walked  on  and 
on,  gazing  at  the  monuments  in  the  Place  Louis  Quinze. 

It  was  a  sunny  day;  a  stream  of  fine  carriages  went  past 
him  on  the  way  to  the  Champs  Elysees.  Following  the  direc- 
tion of  the  crowd  of  strollers,  he  saw  the  three  or  four  thou- 
sand carriages  that  turn  the  Champs  Elysees  into  an  impro- 
vised lyongchamp  on  Sunday  afternoons  in  summer.  The 
splendid  horses,  the  toilets  and  liveries  bewildered  him  ;  he 
went  further  and  further,  until  he  reached  the  Arc  de  Tri- 
omphe,  then  unfinished.  What  were  his  feelings  when,  as 
he  returned,  he  saw  Mme.  de  Bargeton  and  Mme.  d'Espard 
coming  toward  him  in  a  wonderfully  appointed  caleche,  with 
a  chasseur  behind  it  in  waving  plumes  and  that  gold-embroid- 
ered green  uniform  which  he  knew  only  too  well.  There 
was  a  block  somewhere  in  the  row,  and  the  carriages  waited. 
Lucien  beheld  Louise  transformed  beyond  recognition.  All 
the  colors  of  her  toilet  had  been  carefully  subordinated  to  her 
complexion  ;  her  dress  was  delicious,  her  hair  gracefully  and 
becomingly  arranged,  her  hat,  in  exquisite  taste,  was  remark- 
able even  beside  Mme.  d'Espard,  that  leader  of  fashion. 

There  is  something  in  the  art  of  wearing  a  hat  that  escapes 
definition.  Tilted  too  far  to  the  back  of  the  head,  it  imparts 
a  bold  expression  to  the  face ;  bring  it  too  far  forward,  it 
gives  you  a  sinister  look  ;  tipped  to  one  side,  it  has  a  jaunty 
air ;  a  well-dressed  woman  wears  her  hat  exactly  as  she  means 
to  wear  it,  and  exactly  at  the  right  angle.  Mme.  de  Bargeton 
had  solved  this  curious  problem  at  sight.  A  dainty  girdle 
outlined  her  slender  waist.  She  had  adopted  her  cousin's 
gestures  and  tricks  of  manner ;  and  now,  as  she  sat  by  Mme. 
d'Espard's  side,  she  played  with  a  tiny  scent-bottle  that  dan- 
gled by  a  slender  gold  chain  from  one  of  her  fingers,  display- 
ing a  little,  well-gloved  hand  without  seeming  to  do  so.     She 


38  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

had  modeled  herself  on  Mme.  d'Espard  without  mimicking 
her ;  the  Marquise  had  found  a  cousin  worthy  of  her,  and 
seemed  to  be  proud  of  her  pupil. 

The  men  and  women  on  the  footways  all  gazed  at  the 
splendid  carriage,  with  the  bearings  of  the  d'Espards  and 
Blamont-Chauvrys  upon  the  panels.  Lucien  was  amazed  at 
the  number  of  greetings  received  by  the  cousins  ;  he  did  not 
know  that  the  "  all  Paris,"  which  consists  in  some  score  of 
salons,  was  well  aware  already  of  the  relationship  between  the 
ladies.  A  little  group  of  young  men  on  horseback  accom- 
panied the  carriage  in  the  Bois ;  Lucien  could  recognize  de 
Marsay  and  Rastignac  among  them,  and  could  see  from  their 
gestures  that  the  pair  of  coxcombs  were  complimenting  Mme. 
de  Bargeton  upon  her  transformation.  Mme.  d'Espard  was 
radiant  with  health  and  grace.  So  her  indisposition  was 
simply  a  pretext  for  ridding  herself  of  him,  for  there  had 
been  no  mention  of  another  day  ! 

The  wrathful  poet  went  toward  the  caliche ;  he  walked 
slowly,  waited  till  he  came  in  full  sight  of  the  two  ladies  and 
made  them  a  bow.  Mme.  de  Bargeton  would  not  see  him ; 
but  the  Marquise  put  up  her  eyeglass,  and  deliberately  cut 
him.  He  had  been  disowned  by  the  sovereign  lords  of 
AngoulSme,  but  to  be  disowned  by  society  in  Paris  was  an- 
other thing ;  the  booby-squires  by  doing  their  utmost  to 
mortify  Lucien  admitted  his  power  and  acknowledged  him  as 
a  man  ;  for  Mme.  d'Espard  he  had  positively  no  existence. 
This  was  no  sentence,  it  was  a  refusal  of  justice.  Poor  poet ! 
a  deadly  cold  seized  on  him  when  he  saw  de  Marsay  eyeing 
him  through  his  glass ;  and  when  the  Parisian  lion  let  that 
optical  instrument  fall,  it  dropped  in  so  singular  a  fashion 
that  Lucien  thought  of  the  knife-blade  of  the  guillotine. 

The  caliche  went  by.  Rage  and  a  craving  for  vengeance 
took  possession  of  his  slighted  soul.  If  Mme.  de  Bargeton 
had  been  in  his  power,  he  could  have  cut  her  throat  at  that 
moment ;  he  was  a  Fouquier-Tinville  gloating  over  the  pleas- 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  39 

ure  of  sending  Mme.  d'Espard  to  the  scaffold.  If  only  he 
could  have  put  de  Marsay  to  the  torture  with  refinements  of 
savage  cruelty !  Canalis  went  by  on  horseback,  bowing  to 
the  prettiest  women,  his  dress  elegant,  as  became  the  most 
dainty  of  poets. 

"Great  heavens!"  exclaimed  Lucien.  "Money,  money 
at  all  costs  !  money  is  the  one  power  before  which  the  world 
bends  the  knee."  ("  No  !  "  cried  conscience,  "  not  money, 
but  glory ;  and  glory  means  work !  Work !  that  was  what 
David  said.")  "Great  heavens!  what  am  I  doing  here? 
But  I  will  triumph.  I  will  drive  along  this  avenue  in  a 
caleche  with  a  chasseur  behind  me  !  I  will  possess  a  Marquise 
d'Espard."  And  flinging  out  the  wrathful  words,  he  went  to 
Hurbain's  to  dine  for  two  francs. 

Next  morning,  at  nine  o'clock,  he  went  to  the  Rue  Neuve- 
de-Luxembourg  to  upbraid  Louise  for  her  barbarity.  But 
Mme.  de  Bargeton  was  not  at  home  to  him,  and  not  only  so, 
but  the  porter  would  not  allow  him  to  go  up  to  her  rooms ; 
so  he  stayed  outside  in  the  street,  watching  the  house  till 
noon.  At  twelve  o'clock  Ch^telet  came  out,  looked  at 
Lucien  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  and  avoided  him. 

Stung  to  the  quick,  Lucien  hurried  after  his  rival ;  and 
Ch^telet,  finding  himself  closely  pursued,  turned  and  bowed, 
evidently  intending  to  shake  him  off  by  this  courtesy. 

"Spare  me  one  moment  for  pity's  sake,  sir,"  said  Lucien ; 
"  I  want  just  a  word  or  two  with  you.  You  have  shown  me 
friendship,  I  now  ask  the  most  trifling  service  of  that  friend- 
ship. You  have  just  come  from  Madame  de  Bargeton ;  how 
have  I  fallen  into  disgrace  with  her  and  Madame  d'Espard  ? 
— please  explain," 

*' Monsieur  Chardon,  do  you  know  why  the  ladies  left  you 
at  the  opera  that  evening?"  asked  Chdtelet,  with  treacherous 
good-nature. 

"No,"  said  the  poor  poet. 

"  Well,  it  was  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  who  spoke  against 


40  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

you  from  the  beginning.  They  asked  him  about  you,  and 
the  young  dandy  simply  said  that  your  name  was  Chardon, 
and  not  de  Rubempr6;  that  your  mother  was  a  monthly 
nurse ;  that  your  father,  when  he  was  alive,  was  an  apothe- 
cary in  L'Houmeau,  a  suburb  of  AngoulSme  j  and  that  your 
sister,  a  charming  girl,  gets  up  shirts  to  admiration,  and  is 
just  about  to  be  married  to  a  local  printer  named  Sechard. 
Such  is  the  world !  You  no  sooner  show  yourself  than  it 
pulls  you  to  pieces. 

**  Monsieur  de  Marsay  came  to  Madame  d'Espard  to  laugh 
at  you  with  her ;  so  the  two  ladies,  thinking  that  your  presence 
put  them  in  a  false  position,  went  out  at  once.  Do  not 
attempt  to  go  to  either  house.  If  Madame  de  Bargeton  con- 
tinued to  receive  your  visits,  her  cousin  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  her.  You  have  genius ;  try  to  avenge  yourself. 
The  world  looks  down  upon  you ;  look  down  in  your  turn 
upon  the  world.  Take  refuge  in  some  garret,  write  your 
masterpieces,  seize  on  power  of  any  kind,  and  you  will  see 
the  world  at  your  feet.  Then  you  can  give  back  the  bruises 
which  you  have  received,  and  in  the  very  place  where  they 
were  given.  Madame  de  Bargeton  will  be  the  more  distant 
now  because  she  has  been  friendly.  That  is  the  way  with 
women.  But  the  question  now  for  you  is  not  how  to  win 
back  AnaYs'  friendship,  but  how  to  avoid  making  an  enemy 
of  her,  I  will  tell  you  of  a  way.  She  has  written  letters  to 
you ;  send  all  her  letters  back  to  her,  she  will  be  sensible  that 
you  are  acting  like  a  gentleman ;  and  at  a  later  time,  if  you 
should  need  her,  she  will  not  be  hostile.  For  my  own  part, 
I  have  so  high  an  opinion  of  your  future  that  I  have  taken 
your  part  everywhere  ;  and  if  I  can  do  anything  here  for  you, 
you  will  always  find  me  ready  to  be  of  use. ' ' 

The  elderly  beau  seemed  to  have  grown  young  again  in  the 
atmosphere  of  Paris.  He  bowed  with  frigid  politeness ;  but 
Lucien,  woe-begone,  haggard,  and  undone,  forgot  to  return 
the  salutation.     He  went  back  to  his  inn,  and  there  found 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  41 

the  great  Staub  himself,  come  in  person,  not  so  much  to  try 
his  customer's  clothes  as  to  make  inquiries  of  the  landlady 
with  regard  to  that  customer's  financial  status.  The  report 
had  been  satisfactory.  Lucien  had  traveled  post ;  Madame 
de  Bargeton  brought  him  back  from  the  Vaudeville  last 
Thursday  in  her  carriage.  Staub  addressed  Lucien  as  "  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte,"  and  called  his  customer's  attention  to  the 
artistic  skill  with  which  he  had  brought  a  charming  figure  into 
relief. 

"A  young  man  in  such  a  costume  has  only  to  walk  in  the 
Tuileries,"  he  said,  '*  and  he  will  marry  an  English  heiress 
within  a  fortnight." 

Lucien  brightened  a  little  under  the  influence  of  the  Ger- 
man tailor's  joke,  the  perfect  fit  of  his  new  clothes,  the  fine 
cloth,  and  the  sight  of  a  graceful  figure  which  met  his  eyes  in 
the  looking-glass.  Vaguely  he  told  himself  that  Paris  was  the 
capital  of  chance,  and  for  the  moment  he  believed  in  chance. 
Had  he  not  a  volume  of  poems  and  a  magnificent  romance 
entitled  "The  Archer  of  Charles  IX."  in  manuscript?  He 
had  hope  for  the  future.  Staub  promised  the  overcoat  and 
the  rest  of  the  clothes  the  next  day.  Following  him  came 
the  other  tradesmen. 

The  next  day  the  bootmaker,  linen-draper,  and  tailor  all 
returned  armed  each  with  his  bill,  which  Lucien,  still  under 
the  charm  of  provincial  habits,  paid  forthwith,  not  knowing 
how  otherwise  to  rid  himself  of  them.  After  he  had  paid, 
there  remained  but  three  hundred  and  sixty  francs  out  of  the 
two  thousand  which  he  had  brought  with  him  from  Angou- 
leme,  and  he  had  been  but  one  week  in  Paris  !  Nevertheless, 
he  dressed  and  went  out  to  take  a  stroll  on  the  Terrasse  des 
Feuillants.  He  had  his  day  of  triumph.  He  looked  so 
handsome  and  so  graceful,  he  was  so  well  dressed,  that  women 
looked  at  him  ;  two  or  three  were  so  much  struck  with  his 
beauty  that  they  turned  their  heads  to  look  again.  Lucien 
studied  the  gait  and  carriage  of  the  young  men  on  the  Ter- 


42  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

rasse,  and  took  a  lesson  in  fine  manners  while  he  meditated 
on  his  three  hundred  and  sixty  francs. 

That  evening,  alone  in  his  chamber,  an  idea  occurred  to 
him  which  threw  a  light  on  the  problem  of  his  existence  at  the 
Gaillard-Bois,  where  he  lived  on  the  plainest  fare,  thinking  to 
economize  in  this  way.  He  asked  for  his  account,  as  if  he 
meant  to  leave,  and  discovered  that  he  was  indebted  to  his 
landlord  to  the  extent  of  a  hundred  francs.  The  next  morning 
was  spent  in  running  about  the  Latin  Quarter,  recommended 
for  its  cheapness  by  David.  For  a  long  while  he  looked  about 
till,  finally,  in  the  Rue  de  Cluny,  close  to  the  Sorbonne,  he 
discovered  a  place  where  he  could  have  a  furnished  room  for 
such  a  price  as  he  could  afford  to  pay.  He  settled  with  his 
hostess  of  the  Gaillard-Bois  and  took  up  his  quarters  in  the 
Rue  de  Cluny  that  same  day.  His  removal  only  cost  him  the 
cab- fare. 

When  he  had  taken  possession  of  his  poor  room,  he  made  a 
packet  of  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  letters,  laid  them  on  the  table, 
and  sat  down  to  write  to  her ;  but  before  he  wrote  he  fell  to 
thinking  over  that  fatal  week.  He  did  not  tell  himself  that  he 
had  been  the  first  to  be  faithless ;  that  for  a  sudden  fancy  he 
had  been  ready  to  leave  his  Louise  without  knowing  what 
would  become  of  her  in  Paris.  He  saw  none  of  his  own  short- 
comings, but  he  saw  his  present  position  and  blamed  Mme. 
de  Bargeton  for  it.  She  was  to  have  lighted  his  way ;  instead 
she  had  ruined  him.  He  grew  indignant,  he  grew  proud,  he 
worked  himself  into  a  paroxysm  of  rage,  and  set  himself  to 
compose  the  following  epistle : 

"  What  would  you  think,  madame,  of  a  woman  who  should 
take  a  fancy  to  some  poor  and  timid  child  full  of  the  noble 
superstitions  which  the  grown  man  calls  '  illusions,'  and  using 
all  the  charm  of  woman's  coquetry,  all  her  most  delicate  in- 
genuity, should  feign  a  mother's  love  to  lead  that  child 
astray?     Her  fondest  promises,  the  card-castles  which  raised 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  43 

his  wonder,  cost  her  nothing;  she  leads  him  on,  tightens  her 
hold  upon  him,  sometimes  coaxing,  sometimes  scolding  him 
for  his  want  of  confidence,  till  the  child  leaves  his  home  and 
follows  her  blindly  to  the  shores  of  a  vast  sea.  Smiling,  she 
lures  him  into  a  frail  skiff,  and  sends  him  forth  alone  and  help- 
less to  face  the  storm.  Standing  safe  on  the  rock,  she  laughs 
and  wishes  him  luck.     You  are  that  woman  ;  I  am  that  child. 

"  The  child  has  a  keepsake  in  his  hands,  something  which 
might  betray  the  wrongs  done  by  your  beneficence,  your  kind- 
ness in  deserting  him.  You  might  have  to  blush  if  you  saw 
him  struggling  for  life,  and  chanced  to  recollect  that  once 
you  clasped  him  to  your  breast.  When  you  read  these  words 
the  keepsake  will  be  in  your  own  safe-keeping ;  you  are  free  to 
forget  everything. 

"  Once  you  pointed  out  fair  hopes  to  me  in  the  skies,  I 
awake  to  find  reality  in  the  squalid  poverty  of  Paris.  While 
you  pass,  and  others  bow  before  you,  on  your  brilliant  path 
in  the  great  world,  I,  whom  you  deserted  on  the  threshold, 
shall  be  shivering  in  the  wretched  garret  to  which  you  con- 
signed me.  Yet  some  pang  may  perhaps  trouble  your  mind 
amid  festivals  and  pleasures  ;  you  may  think  sometimes  of  the 
child  whom  you  thrust  into  the  depths.  If  so,  madame,  think 
of  him  without  remorse.  Out  of  the  depths  of  his  misery  the 
child  offers  you  the  one  thing  left  to  him — his  forgiveness  in 
a  last  look.  Yes,  madame,  thanks  to  you,  I  have  nothing 
left.  Nothing  !  Was  not  the  world  created  from  nothing  ? 
Genius  should  follow  the  Divine  example ;  I  begin  with  God- 
like forgiveness,  but  as  yet  I  know  not  whether  I  possess  the 
God-like  power.  You  need  only  tremble  lest  I  should  go 
astray ;  for  you  would  be  answerable  for  my  sins.  Alas !  I 
pity  you,  for  you  will  have  no  part  in  the  future  toward  which 
I  go,  with  work  as  my  guide." 

After  penning  this  rhetorical  effusion,  full  of  the  sombre 
dignity  which  an  artist  of  one-and-twenty  is  rather  apt  to 


44  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

overdo,  Lucien's  thoughts  went  back  to  them  at  home.  He 
saw  the  pretty  rooms  which  David  had  furnished  for  him,  at 
the  cost  of  part  of  his  little  store,  and  a  vision  rose  before 
him  of  quiet,  simple  pleasures  in  the  past.  Shadowy  figures 
came  about  him  ;  he  saw  his  mother  and  Eve  and  David,  and 
heard  their  sobs  over  his  leave-taking,  and  at  that  he  began  to 
cry  himself,  for  he  felt  very  lonely  in  Paris,  and  friendless  and 
forlorn. 
Two  or  three  days  later  he  wrote  to  his  sister : 

**  My  dear  Eve  : — When  a  sister  shares  the  life  of  a  brother 
who  devotes  himself  to  art,  it  is  her  sad  privilege  to  take 
more  sorrow  than  joy  into  her  life ;  and  I  am  beginning  to 
fear  that  I  shall  be  a  great  trouble  to  you.  Have  I  not 
abused  your  goodness  already  ?  have  not  all  of  you  sacrificed 
yourselves  to  me  ?  It  is  the  memory  of  the  past,  so  full  of 
family  happiness,  that  helps  me  to  bear  up  in  my  present 
loneliness.  Now  that  I  have  tasted  the  first  beginnings  of 
poverty  and  the  treachery  of  the  world  of  Paris,  how  my 
thoughts  have  flown  to  you,  swift  as  an  eagle  back  to  his 
eyrie,  so  that  I  might  be  with  true  affection  again.  Did  you 
see  sparks  in  the  candle?  Did  a  coal  pop  out  of  the  fire  ? 
Did  you  hear  singing  in  your  ears  ?  And  did  mother  say, 
'Lucien  is  thinking  of  us,'  and  David  answer,  '  He  is  fighting 
his  way  in  the  world  ?  * 

"  My  Eve,  I  am  writing  this  letter  for  your  eyes  only.  I 
cannot  tell  any  one  else  all  that  has  happened  to  me,  good 
and  bad,  blushing  for  both,  as  I  write,  for  good  here  is  as  rare 
as  evil  ought  to  be.  You  shall  have  a  great  piece  of  news  in 
a  very  few  words.  Mme.  de  Bargeton  was  ashamed  of  me, 
disowned  me,  would  not  see  me,  and  gave  me  up  nine  days 
after  we  came  to  Paris.  She  saw  me  in  the  street  and  looked 
another  way  ;  when,  simply  to  follow  her  into  the  society  to 
which  she  meant  to  introduce  me,  I  had  spent  seventeen 
hundred  and  sixty  francs  out  of  the  two  thousand  I  brought 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  45 

from   Angouldme,   the   money  so   hardly   scraped    together. 

*  How  did  you  spend  it  ? '  you  will  ask.  Paris  is  a  strange 
bottomless  gulf,  my  poor  sister;  you  can  dine  here  for  less 
than  a  franc,  yet  the  simplest  dinner  at  a  fashionable  restau- 
rant costs  fifty  francs ;  there  are  waistcoats  and  trousers  to  be 
had  for  four  francs  and  two  francs  each  ;  but  a  fashionable 
tailor  never  charges  less  than  a  hundred  francs.  You  pay  for 
everything ;  you  pay  a  halfpenny  to  cross  the  kennel  in  the 
street  when  it  rains  ;  you  cannot  go  the  least  little  way  in  a 
cab  for  less  than  thirty-two  sous. 

"  I  have  been  staying  in  one  of  the  best  parts  of  Paris,  but 
now  I  am  living  at  the  Hotel  de  Cluny,  in  the  Rue  de  Cluny, 
one  of  the  poorest  and  darkest  slums,  shut  in  between  three 
churches  and  the  old  buildings  of  the  Sorbonne.  I  have  a 
furnished  room  on  the  fourth  floor  ;  it  is  very  bare  and  very 
dirty,  but,  all  the  same,  I  pay  fifteen  francs  a  month  for  it. 
For  breakfast  I  spend  a  penny  on  a  roll  and  a  halfpenny  for 
milk,  but  I  dine  very  decently  for  twenty-two  sous  at  a  restau- 
rant kept  by  a  man  named  Flicoteaux  in  the  Place  de  la  Sor- 
bonne itself.  My  expenses  every  month  will  not  exceed 
sixty  francs,  everything  included,  until  the  winter  begins — 
at  least  I  hope  not.  So  my  two  hundred  and  forty  francs 
ought  to  last  me  for  the  first  four  months.  Between  now 
and  then  I  shall  have  sold  *  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX.'  and 
the  'Marguerites,'  no  doubt.  Do  not  be  in  the  least  un- 
easy on  my  account.  If  the  present  is  cold  and  bare  and 
poverty-stricken,  the  blue  distant  future  is  rich  and  splendid ; 
most  great  men  have  known  the  vicissitudes  which  depress  but 
cannot-  overwhelm  me. 

"  Plautus,  the  great  comic  Latin  poet,  was  once  a  miller's 
lad.  Machiavelli  wrote  '  The  Prince '  at  night,  and  by  day 
was  a  common  workingman  like  any  one  else;  and  more  than 
all,  the  great  Cervantes,  who  lost  an  arm  at  the  battle  of 
Lepanto,  and  helped  to  win  that  famous  day,  was  called  a 

*  base-born,  hand-less  dotard '  by  the  scribblers  of  his  day ; 


46  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  FA  HIS. 

there  was  an  interval  of  ten  years  between  the  appearance  of 
the  first  part  and  the  second  of  his  sublime  *  Don  Quixote ' 
for  lack  of  a  publisher.  Things  are  not  so  bad  as  that  now- 
adays. Mortifications  and  want  only  fall  to  the  lot  of  un- 
known writers ;  as  soon  as  a  man's  name  is  known,  he  grows 
rich,  and  I  will  be  rich.  And,  beside,  I  live  within  myself, 
I  spend  half  the  day  at  the  Bibliotheque  (Library)  Sainte- 
Genevi^ve,  learning  all  that  I  want  to  learn  ;  I  should  not  go 
far  unless  I  knew  more  than  I  do.  So  at  this  moment  I  am 
almost  happy.  In  a  few  days  I  have  fallen  in  with  my  life 
very  gladly.  I  begin  the  work  that  I  love  with  daylight,  my 
subsistence  is  secure,  I  think  a  great  deal,  and  I  study.  I  do 
not  see  that  I  am  open  to  attack  at  any  point,  now  that  I  have 
renounced  a  world  where  my  vanity  might  suffer  at  any 
moment.  The  great  men  of  every  age  are  obliged  to  lead 
lives  apart.  What  are  they  but  birds  in  the  forest  ?  They 
sing,  nature  falls  under  the  spell  of  their  song,  and  no  one 
should  see  them.  That  shall  be  my  lot,  always  supposing  that 
I  can  carry  out  my  ambitious  plans. 

"  Mme.  de  Bargeton  I  do  not  regret.  A  woman  who 
could  behave  as  she  behaved  does  not  deserve  a  thought.  Nor 
am  I  sorry  that  I  left  Angoul§me.  She  did  wisely  when  she 
flung  me  into  the  sea  of  Paris  to  sink  or  swim.  This  is  the 
place  for  men  of  letters  and  thinkers  and  poets ;  here  you 
cultivate  glory,  and  I  know  how  fair  the  harvest  is  that  we 
reap  in  these  days.  Nowhere  else  can  a  writer  find  the  living 
works  of  the  great  dead,  the  works  of  art  which  quicken  the 
imagination  in  the  galleries  and  museums  here ;  nowhere  else 
will  you  find  great  reference  libraries  always  open  in  which 
the  intellect  may  find  pasture.  And,  lastly,  here  in  Paris 
there  is  a  spirit  which  you  breathe  in  the  air;  it  infuses  the 
least  details,  every  literary  creation  bears  traces  of  its  influ- 
ence. You  learn  more  by  talk  in  a  caf6,  or  at  a  theatre,  in 
one  half-hour,  than  you  would  learn  in  ten  years  in  the 
provinces.     Here,  in  truth,  wherever  you  go,  there  is  always 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  47 

something  to  see,  something  to  learn,  some  comparison  to 
make.  Extreme  cheapness  and  excessive  clearness — there  is 
Paris  for  you ;  there  is  honeycomb  here  for  every  bee,  every 
nature  finds  its  own  nourishment.  So,  though  life  is  hard 
for  me  just  now,  I  repent  of.  nothing.  On  the  contrary,  a 
fair  future  spreads  out  before  me,  and  my  heart  rejoices  though 
it  is  saddened  for  the  moment.  Good-by,  my  dear  sister. 
Do  not  expect  letters  from  me  regularly ;  it  is  one  of  the 
peculiarities  of  Paris  that  one  really  does  not  know  how  the 
time  goes.  Life  is  so  alarmingly  rapid.  I  kiss  the  mother  • 
and  you  and  David  more  tenderly  than  ever." 

The  name  of  Flicoteaux  is  engraved  on  many  memories. 
Few  indeed  were  the  students  who  lived  in  the  Latin  Quarter 
during  the  last  twelve  years  of  the  restoration  and  did  not  fre- 
quent that  temple  sacred  to  hunger  and  impecuniosity.  There 
a  dinner  of  three  courses,  with  a  quarter-bottle  of  wine  or  a 
bottle  of  beer,  could  be  had  for  eighteen  sous;  or  for  twenty- 
two  sous  the  quarter-bottle  became  a  bottle.  Flicoteaux,  that 
friend  of  youth,  would  beyond  a  doubt  have  amassed  a 
colossal  fortune  but  for  a  line  on  his  bill  of  fare,  a  line  which 
rival  establishments  are  wont  to  print  in  capital  letters,  thus — 
BREAD  AT  DISCRETION,  which,  being  interpreted,  should  read 
"  indiscretion." 

Flicoteaux  has  been  nursing-father  to  many  an  illustrious 
name.  Verily,  the  heart  of  more  than  one  great  man  ought 
to  wax  warm  with  innumerable  recollections  of  inexpressible 
enjoyment  at  the  sight  of  the  small,  square  window-panes 
that  look  upon  the  Place  de  la  Sorbonne  and  the  Rue  Neuve- 
de-Richelieu.  Flicoteaux  IL  and  Flicoteaux  IIL  respected  the 
old  exterior,  maintaining  the  dingy  hue  and  general  air  of  a 
respectable,  old-established  house,  showing  thereby  the  depth 
of  their  contempt  for  the  charlatanism  of  the  store-front,  the 
kind  of  advertisement  which  feasts  the  eyes  at  the  expense  of 
the  stomach,  to  which  your  modern  restaurant  almost  always 


48  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

has  recourse.  Here  you  beheld  no  piles  of  straw-stuffed  game 
never  destined  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  spit,  no  fan- 
tastical fish  to  justify  the  mountebank's  remark,  "  I  saw  a  fine 
carp  to-day;  I  expect  to  buy  it  this  day  week."  Instead  of 
the  prime  vegetables,  more  fittingly  described  by  the  word 
primeval,  artfully  displayed  in  the  window  for  the  delectation 
of  the  military  man  and  his  fellow-countrywoman  the  nurse- 
maid, honest  Flicoteaux  exhibited  full  salad-bowls  adorned 
with  many  a  rivet,  or  pyramids  of  stewed  prunes  to  rejoice 
the  sight  of  the  customer,  and  assure  him  that  the  word 
"dessert,"  with  which  other  handbills  made  too  free,  was  in 
this  case  no  charter  to  hoodwink  the  public.  Loaves  of  six 
pounds'  weight,  cut  in  four  quarters,  made  good  the  promise 
of  "bread  at  discretion."  Such  was  the  plenty  of  the  estab- 
lishment that  Moliere  would  have  celebrated  it  if  it  had  been 
in  existence  in  his  day,  so  comically  appropriate  is  the  name. 

Flicoteaux  still  subsists  ;  so  long  as  students  are  minded  to 
live,  Flicoteaux  will  make  a  living.  You  feed  there,  neither 
more  nor  less;  and  you  feed  as  you  work,  with  morose  or 
cheerful  industry,  according  to  the  circumstances  and  the  tem- 
perament. 

At  that  time  his  well-known  establishment  consisted  of  two 
dining-halls,  at  right  angles  to  each  other ;  long,  narrow  low- 
ceiled  rooms,  looking  respectively  on  the  Rue  Neuve-de-Riche- 
lieu  and  the  Place  de  la  Sorbonne.  The  furniture  must  have 
come  originally  from  the  refectory  of  some  abbey,  for  there 
was  a  monastic  look  about  the  lengthy  tables,  where  the  servi- 
ettes of  regular  customers,  each  thrust  through  a  numbered  ring 
of  crystallized  tin  plate,  were  laid  by  their  places.  Flico- 
teaux I.  only  changed  the  serviettes  of  a  Sunday ;  but  Flico- 
teaux II.  changed  them  twice  a  week,  it  is  said,  under  pressure 
of  competition  which  threatened  his  dynasty, 

Flicoteaux's  restaurant  is  no  banqueting-hall,  with  its  refine- 
ments and  luxuries;  it  is  a  workshop  where  suitable  tools  are 
provided,  and  everybody  gets  up  and  goes  as  soon  as  he  has 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  49 

finished.  The  coming  and  going  within  is  swift.  There  is 
no  dawdling  among  the  waiters ;  they  are  all  busy ;  every  one 
of  them  is  wanted. 

The  fare  is  not  very  varied.  The  potato  is  a  permanent 
institution  ;  there  might  not  be  a  single  tuber  left  in  Ireland, 
and  prevailing  dearth  elsewhere,  but  you  would  still  find  pota- 
toes at  Flicoteaux's.  Not  once  in  thirty  years  shall  you  miss 
its  pale  gold  (the  color  beloved  of  Titian),  sprinkled  with 
chopped  verdure ;  the  potato  enjoys  a  privilege  that  women 
might  envy;  such  as  you  see  it  in  1814,  so  shall  you  find  it 
in  1840.  Mutton  cutlets  and  fillet  of  beef  at  Flicoteaux's 
represent  black  game  and  fillet  of  sturgeon  at  Very's ;  they 
are  not  on  the  regular  bill  of  fare,  that  is,  and  must  be  ordered 
beforehand.  Beef  of  the  feminine  gender  there  prevails;  the 
young  of  the  bovine  species  appears  in  all  kinds  of  ingenious 
disguises.  When  the  whiting  and  mackerel  abound  on  our 
shores,  they  are  likewise  seen  in  large  numbers  at  Flicoteaux's; 
his  whole  establishment,  indeed,  is  directly  affected  by  the 
caprices  of  the  season  and  the  vicissitudes  of  French  agricul- 
ture. By  eating  your  dinners  at  Flicoteaux's  you  learn  a  host 
of  things  of  which  the  wealthy,  the  idle,  and  folk  indifferent 
to  the  phases  of  nature  have  no  suspicion,  and  the  student 
penned  up  in  the  Latin  Quarter  is  kept  accurately  informed 
of  the  state  of  the  weather  and  good  or  bad  seasons.  He 
knows  when  it  is  a  good  year  for  peas  or  French  beans,  and 
the  kind  of  salad  stuff  that  is  plentiful ;  when  the  Great  Mar- 
ket is  glutted  with  cabbages,  he  is  at  once  aware  of  the  fact, 
and  the  failure  of  the  beet-root  crop  is  brought  home  to  his 
mind.  A  slander,  old  in  circulation  in  Lucien's  time,  con- 
nected the  appearance  of  beefsteaks  with  a  mortality  among 
horseflesh. 

Few  Parisian  restaurants  are  so  well  worth  seeing.     Every 

one  at  Flicoteaux's  is  young;  you  see  nothing  but  youth; 

and  although  earnest  faces  and  grave,  gloomy,  anxious  faces 

are  not  lacking,  you  see  hope  and  confidence  and  poverty 

4 


50  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

gaily  endured.  Dress,  as  a  rule,  is  careless,  and  regular 
comers  in  decent  clothes  are  marked  exceptions.  Everybody 
knows  at  once  that  something  extraordinary  is  afoot ;  a  mis- 
tress to  visit,  a  theatre  party,  or  some  excursion  into  higher 
spheres.  Here,  it  is  said,  friendships  have  been  made  among 
students  who  became  famous  men  in  after-days,  as  will  be  seen 
in  the  course  of  this  narrative ;  but  with  the  exception  of  a  few 
knots  of  young  fellows  from  the  same  part  of  France  who 
make  a  group  about  the  end  of  a  table,  the  gravity  of  the 
diners  is  hardly  relaxed.  Perhaps  this  gravity  is  due  to  the 
catholicity  of  the  wine,  which  checks  good  fellowship  of  any 
kind. 

Flicoteaux's  frequenters  may  recollect  certain  sombre  and 
mysterious  figures  enveloped  in  the  gloom  of  the  chilliest 
penury ;  these  beings  would  dine  there  daily  for  a  couple  of 
years  and  then  vanish,  and  the  most  inquisitive  regular  comer 
could  throw  no  light  on  the  disappearance  of  such  goblins  of 
Paris.  Friendships  struck  up  over  Flicoteaux's  dinners  were 
sealed  in  neighboring  cafes  in  the  flames  of  heady  punch,  or 
by  the  generous  warmth  of  a  small  cup  of  black  coffee  glorified 
by  a  dash  "of  something  hotter  and  stronger. 

Lucien,  like  all  neophytes,  was  modest  and  regular  in  his 
habits  in  those  early  days  at  the  Hotel  de  Cluny.  After  the 
first  unlucky  venture  in  fashionable  life  which  absorbed  his 
capital,  he  threw  himself  into  his  work  with  the  first  earnest 
enthusiasm,  which  is  fritted  away  so  soon  over  the  difficulties 
or  in  the  by-paths  of  every  life  in  Paris.  The  most  luxurious 
and  the  very  poorest  lives  are  equally  beset  with  temptations 
which  nothing  but  the  fierce  energy  of  genius  or  the  morose 
persistence  of  ambition  can  overcome. 

Lucien  used  to  drop  in  at  Flicoteaux's  about  half-past  four, 
having  remarked  the  advantages  of  an  early  arrival ;  the  bill- 
of-fare  was  more  varied,  and  there  was  still  some  chance  of 
obtaining  the  dish  of  your  choice.  Like  all  imaginative  per- 
sons, he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  a  particular  seat,  and  showed 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  61 

discrimination  in  his  selection.  On  the  very  first  day  he  had 
noticed  a  table  near  the  counter,  and  from  the  faces  of  those 
who  sat  about  it,  and  chance  snatches  of  their  talk,  he  recog- 
nized brothers  of  the  craft.  A  sort  of  instinct,  moreover, 
pointed  out  the  table  near  the  counter  as  a  spot  whence  he 
could  parley  with  the  owners  of  the  restaurant.  In  time 
an  acquaintance  would  grow  up,  he  thought,  and  then  in 
the  day  of  distress  he  could  no  doubt  obtain  the  necessary 
credit.  So  he  took  his  place  at  a  small  square  table  close  to 
the  desk,  intended  probably  for  casual  comers,  for  the  two 
clean  serviettes  were  unadorned  with  rings.  Lucien's  opposite 
neighbor  was  a  thin,  pallid  youth,  to  all  appearance  as  poor 
as  he  himself;  his  handsome  face  was  somewhat  worn  :  already 
it  told  of  hopes  that  had  vanished,  leaving  lines  upon  his 
forehead  and  barren  furrows  in  his  soul,  where  seeds  had 
been  sown  that  had  come  to  nothing.  Lucien  felt  drawn  to 
the  stranger  by  these  tokens  ;  his  sympathies  went  out  to  him 
with  irresistible  fervor. 

After  a  week's  exchange  of  small  courtesies  and  remarks, 
the  poet  from  Angoulgme  found  the  first  person  with  whom 
he  could  chat.  The  stranger's  name  was  Etienne  Lousteau. 
Two  years  ago  he  had  left  his  native  place,  a  town  in  Berri, 
just  as  Lucien  had  come  from  Angouldme.  His  lively  ges- 
tures, bright  eyes,  and  occasionally  curt  speech  revealed  a  bit- 
ter apprenticeship  to  literature.  Etienne  had  come  from  San- 
cerre  with  his  tragedy  in  his  pocket,  drawn  to  Paris  by  the 
same  motives  that  impelled  Lucien — hope  of  fame  and  power 
and  money. 

Sometimes  Etienne  Lousteau  came  for  several  days  together; 
but  in  a  little  while  his  visits  became  kff  and  far  between 
and  he  would  stay  away  for  five  or  six  days  in  succession. 
Then  he  would  come  back,  and  Lucien  would  hope  to  see  his 
poet  next  day,  only  to  find  a  stranger  in  his  place.  When 
two  young  men  meet  daily,  their  talk  harks  back  to  their  last 
conversation ;  but  these  continual  interruptions  obliged  Lu- 


62  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

cien  to  break  the  ice  afresh  each  time,  and  further  checked 
an  intimacy  which  made  little  progress  during  the  first  few 
weeks.  On  inquiry  of  the  damsel  at  the  counter,  Lucien  was 
told  that  his  future  friend  was  on  the  staff  of  a  small  news- 
paper, and  wrote  reviews  of  books  and  dramatic  criticism  of 
pieces  played  at  the  Ambigu-Comique,  the  Gaite,  and  the 
Panorama-Dramatique.  The  young  man  became  a  personage 
all  at  once  in  Lucien's  eyes.  Now,  he  thought,  he  would 
lead  the  conversation  on  rather  more  personal  topics,  and 
make  some  effort  to  gain  a  friend  so  likely  to  be  useful  to  a 
beginner.  The  journalist  stayed  away  for  a  fortnight.  Lucien 
did  not  know  that  Etienne  only  dined  at  Flicoteaux's  when 
he  was  hard  up,  and  hence  his  gloomy  air  of  disenchantment 
and  the  chilly  manner,  which  Lucien  met  with  gracious  smiles 
and  amiable  remarks.  But,  after  all,  the  project  of  a  friend- 
ship called  for  mature  deliberation.  This  obscure  journalist 
appeared  to  lead  an  expensive  life  in  y^hich  peiits  verres  (little 
glasses),  cups  of  coffee,  punch-bowls,  sight-seeing,  and  suppers 
played  a  part.  In  the  early  days  of  Lucien's  life  in  the  Latin 
Quarter,  he  behaved  like  a  poor  child  bewildered  by  his  first 
experience  of  Paris  life ;  so  that  when  he  had  made  a  study 
of  prices  and  weighed  his  purse,  he  lacked  courage  to  make 
advances  to  Etienne;  he  was  afraid  of  beginning  a  fresh 
series  of  the  blunders  of  which  he  was  still  repenting.  And 
he  was  still  under  the  yoke  of  provincial  creeds ;  his  two 
guardian  angels,  Eve  and  David,  rose  up  before  him  at  the 
least  approach  of  an  evil  thought,  putting  him  in  mind  of  all 
the  hopes  that  were  centred  on  him,  of  the  happiness  that  he 
owed  to  the  old  mother,  of  all  the  promises  of  his  genius. 

He  spent  his  mornings  in  studying  history  at  the  Biblio- 
thdque  Sainte-Genevi^ve.  His  very  first  researches  made 
him  aware  of  frightful  errors  in  the  memoirs  of  "  The  Archer 
of  Charles  IX."  When  the  library  closed,  he  went  back  to 
his  damp,  chilly  room  to  correct  his  work,  cutting  out  whole 
chapters  and  piecing  it  together  anew.     And  after  dining  at 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  53 

Flicoteaux's,  he  went  down  to  the  Passage  du  Commerce  to 
see  the  newspapers  at  Blosse's  reading-room,  as  well  as  new 
books  and  magazines  and  poetry,  so  as  to  keep  himself  in- 
formed of  the  movements  of  the  day.  And  when,  toward 
midnight,  he  returned  to  his  wretched  lodgings,  he  had  used 
neither  fuel  nor  candle-light.  His  reading  in  those  days 
made  such  an  enormous  change  in  his  ideas  that  he  revised 
his  volume  of  flower-sonnets,  his  beloved  "Marguerites," 
working  them  over  to  such  purpose  that  scarce  a  hundred 
lines  of  the  original  verses  were  allowed  to  stand. 

So  in  the  beginning  Lucien  led  the  honest,  innocent  life  of 
tlie  country  lad  who  never  leaves  the  Latin  Quarter ;  devot- 
ing himself  wholly  to  his  work,  with  thoughts  of  the  future 
always  before  him  ;  who  finds  Flicoteaux's  ordinary  luxurious 
after  the  simple  home-fare  ;  and  strolls  for  recreation  along 
the  alleys  of  the  Luxembourg,  the  blood  surging  back  to  his 
heart  as  he  gives  timid  side-glances  to  the  pretty  women. 
But  this  could  not  last.  Lucien,  with  his  poetic  temperament 
and  boundless  longings,  could  not  withstand  the  temptations 
held  out  by  the  play-bills. 

The  Theatre-Frangais,  the  Vaudeville,  the  Varietes,  the 
Opera-Comique  relieved  him  of  some  sixty  francs,  although 
he  always  went  to  the  pit.  What  student  could  deny  himself 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  Talma  in  one  of  his  famous  roles? 
Lucien  was  fascinated  by  the  theatre,  that  first  love  of  all 
poetic  temperaments ;  the  actors  and  actresses  were  awe- 
inspiring  creatures ;  he  did  not  so  much  as  dream  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  crossing  the  footlights  and  meeting  them  on  familiar 
terms.  The  men  and  women  who  gave  him  so  much  pleasure 
were  surely  marvelous  beings,  whom  the  newspapers  treated 
with  as  much  gravity  as  matters  of  national  interest.  To  be 
a  dramatic  author,  to  have  a  play  produced  on  the  stage  ! 
What  a  dream  was  this  to  cherish  !  A  dream  which  a  few 
bold  spirits  like  Casimir  Delavigne  had  actually  realized  ! 
Thick  swarming  thoughts  like  these,  and  moments  of  belief 


64  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

in  himself,  followed  by  despair,  gave  Lucien  no  rest,  and  kept 
him  in  the  narrow  way  of  toil  and  frugality,  in  spite  of  the 
smothered  grumblings  of  more  than  one  frenzied  desire. 

Carrying  prudence  to  an  extreme,  he  made  it  a  rule  never 
to  enter  the  precincts  of  the  Palais  Royal,  that  place  of  perdi- 
tion where  he  had  spent  fifty  francs  at  V6ry's  in  a  single  day, 
and  nearly  five  hundred  francs  on  his  clothes  ;  and  when  he 
yielded  to  temptation,  and  saw  Fleury,  Talma,  the  two  Bap- 
tistes,  or  Michot,  he  went  no  further  than  the  murky  passage 
where  theatre-goers  used  to  stand  in  a  string  from  half-past  five 
in  the  afternoon  till  the  hour  when  the  door  opened,  and  be- 
lated comers  were  compelled  to  pay  ten  sous  for  a  place  near 
the  ticket-office.  And,  after  waiting  for  two  hours,  the  cry 
of  "All  tickets  are  sold  !  "  rang  not  infrequently  in  the  ears 
of  disappointed  students.  When  the  play  was  over,  Lucien 
went  home  with  downcast  eyes,  through  streets  lined  with 
living  attractions,  and,  perhaps,  fell  in  with  one  of  those 
commonplace  adventures  which  loom  so  large  in  a  young  and 
timorous  imagination. 

One  day  Lucien  counted  over  his  remaining  stock  of  money, 
and  took  alarm  at  the  melting  of  his  funds;  a  cold  perspiration 
broke  out  upon  him  when  he  thought  that  the  time  had  come 
when  he  must  find  a  publisher,  and  try  also  to  find  work  for 
which  a  publisher  would  pay  him.  The  young  journalist, 
with  whom  he  had  made  a  one-sided  friendship,  never  came 
now  to  Flicoteaux's.  Lucien  was  waiting  for  a  chance — 
which  failed  to  present  itself  In  Paris  there  are  no  chances 
except  for  men  with  a  very  wide  circle  of  acquaintance; 
chances  of  success  of  every  kind  increase  with  the  number  of 
your  connections;  and,  therefore,  in  this  sense  also  the  chances 
are  in  favor  of  the  big  battalions.  Lucien  had  sufficient  pro- 
vincial foresight  still  left,  and  had  no  mind  to  wait  until  only 
a  last  few  coins  remained  to  him.  He  resolved  to  face  the 
publishers. 

So  one  tolerably  chilly  September   morning  Lucien  went 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  55 

down  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe,  with  his  two  manuscripts  under 
his  arm.  As  he  made  his  way  to  the  Quai  des  Augustins, 
and  went  along,  looking  into  the  booksellers'  windows  on  one 
side  and  into  the  Seine  on  the  other,  his  good  genius  migTit 
have  counseled  him  to  pitch  himself  into  the  water  sooner 
than  plunge  into  literature.  After  heart-searching  hesitations, 
after  a  profound  scrutiny  of  the  various  countenances,  more  or 
less  encouraging,  soft-hearted,  churlish,  cheerful,  or  melan- 
choly, to  t)e  seen  through  the  window-panes  or  in  the  door- 
ways of  the  booksellers'  establishments,  he  espied  a  house 
where  the  shopmen  were  busy  packing  books  at  a  great  rate. 
Goods  were  being  dispatched.  The  walls  were  plastered  with 
bills : 

JUST  OUT. 

Le  Solitaire,  by  M.  le  Vicomte  d'Arlincourt. 
Third  edition. 

LtONiDE,   by  Victor  Ducange ;    five  volumes, 
l2mo,  printed  on  fine  paper.      12  francs. 

Inductions  Morales,  by  K6ratry. 

"  They  are  lucky,  that  they  are  !  "  exclaimed  Lucien. 

The  placard,  a  new  and  original  idea  of  the  celebrated 
Ladvocat,  was  just  beginning  to  blossom  out  upon  the  walls. 
In  no  long  space  Paris  was  to  wear  motley,  thanks  to  the 
exertions  of  his  imitators,  and  the  Treasury  was  to  discover  a 
new  source  of  revenue. 

Anxiety  sent  the  blood  surging  to  Lucien's  heart,  as  he 
who  had  been  so  great  at  Angoulgme,  so  insignificant  of  late 
in  Paris,  slipped  past  the  other  houses,  summoned  up  all  his 
courage,  and  at  last  entered  the  shop  thronged  with  assistants, 
customers,  and  booksellers — "And  authors  too,  perhaps!" 
thought  Lucien. 

"  I  want  to  speak  with  Monsieur  Vidal  or  Monsieur  Por- 
chon,"   he  said,  addressing  a  shopman.     He   had  read  the 


66  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

names  on  the  signboard — Vidal  &  Porchon  (it  ran),  French 
and  foreign  booksellers^  agents. 

"  Both  gentlemen  are  engaged,"  said  the  man. 

"I  will  wait." 

Left  to  himself,  the  poet  scrutinized  the  packages,  and 
amused  himself  for  a  couple  of  hours  by  scanning  the  titles 
of  books,  looking  into  them,  and  reading  a  page  or  two  here 
and  there.  At  last,  as  he  stood  leaning  against  a  window,  he 
heard  voices,  and  suspecting  that  the  green  curtains  hid  either 
Vidal  or  Porchon,  he  listened  to  the  conversation. 

**  Will  you  take  five  hundred  copies  of  me?  If  you  will,  I 
will  let  you  have  them  at  five  francs,  and  give  fourteen  to  the 
dozen." 

"  What  does  that  bring  them  in  at  ?  " 

"Sixteen  sous  less." 

"Four  francs  four  sous?"  said  Vidal  or  Porchon,  which- 
ever it  was. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  vendor. 

**  Credit  your  account?  "  inquired  the  purchaser. 

"Old  humbug!  you  would  settle  with  me  in  eighteen 
months'  time,  with  bills  at  a  twelvemonth." 

"  No.     Settled  at  once,"  returned  Vidal  or  Porchon. 

"Bills  at  nine  months?"  asked  the  publisher  or  author, 
who  evidently  was  selling  his  book. 

"  No,  my  dear  fellow,  twelve  months,"  returned  one  of  the 
firm  of  booksellers'  agents. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  You  are  simply  cutting  my  throat !  "  said  the  visitor. 

"  But  in  a  year's  time  shall  we  have  placed  a  hundred 
copies  of  'L6onide?'  "  said  the  other  voice.  "If  books 
went  off  as  fast  as  the  publishers  would  like,  we  should  be 
millionaires,  my  good  sir;  but  they  don't,  they  go  as  the 
public  pleases.  There  is  some  one  now  bringing  out  an 
edition  of  Scott's  novels  at  eighteen  sous  per  volume,  three 
livres  twelve  sous  per  copy,  and  you  want  me  to  give  you 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  57 

«• 

more  for  your  stale  remainders  ?  No.  If  you  mean  me  to 
push  this  novel  of  yours,  you  must. make  it  worth  my  while. 
Vidal!" 

A  stout  man,  with  a  pen  behind  his  ear,  came  down  from 
his  desk. 

"  How  many  copies  of  Ducange  did  you  place  last  jour- 
ney? "  asked  Porchon  of  his  partner. 

"  Two  hundred  of  '  Le  Petit  Vieillard  de  Calais  ; '  but  to 
sell  them  I  was  obliged  to  cry  down  two  books  which  pay  in 
less  commission,  and  uncommonly  fine  *  nightingales '  they 
are  now. ' ' 

(A  "nightingale,"  as  Lucien  afterward  learned,  is  a  book- 
seller's name  for  books  that  linger  on  hand,  perched  out  of 
sight  in  the  loneliest  nooks  in  the  store.) 

"And,  beside,"  added  Vidal,  "  Pi  card  is  bringing  out 
some  novels,  as  you  know.  We  have  been  promised  twenty 
per  cent,  on  the  published  price  to  make  the  thing  a  success." 

*'  Very  well,  at  twelve  months,"  the  publisher  answered  in 
a  piteous  voice,  thunderstruck  by  Vidal's  confidential  remark. 

"  Is  it  an  offer  ?  "  Porchon  inquired  curtly. 

"Yes."  The  stranger  went  out.  After  he  had  gone,  Lu- 
cien heard  Porchon  say  to  Vidal — 

"  We  have  three  hundred  copies  on  order  now.  We  will 
keep  him  waiting  for  his  settlement,  sell  the  '  Leonides  '  for 
five  francs  net,  settlement  in  six  months,  and " 

"  And  that  will  be  fifteen  hundred  francs  into  our  pockets," 
said  Vidal. 

"  Oh,  I  saw  quite  well  that  he  was  in  a  fix.  He  is  giving 
Ducange  four  thousand  francs  for  two  thousand  copies." 

Lucien  cut  Vidal  short  by  appearing  in  the  entrance  of  the 
den. 

"  I  have  the  honor  of  wishing  you  a  good-day,  gentlemen," 
he  said,  addressing  both  partners.  The  booksellers  nodded 
slightly. 

"  I  have  a  French  historical  romance  after  the  style  of 


68  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

Scott.  It  is  called  '  The 'Archer  of  Charles  IX.  j '  I  propose 
to  ofTer  it  to  you " 

Porchon  glanced  at  Lucien  with  lustreless  eyes,  and  laid 
his  pen  down  on  the  desk.    Vidal  stared  rudely  at  the  author. 

"We  are  not  publishing  booksellers,  sir;  we  are  booksel- 
lers' agents,"  he  said.  "When  we  bring  out  a  book  our- 
selves, we  only  deal  in  well-known  names  ;  and,  beside,  we 
only  take  serious  literature — history  and  epitomes." 

"  But  my  book  is  very  serious.  It  is  an  attempt  to  set  the 
struggle  between  Catholics  and  Calvinists  in  its  true  light ; 
the  Catholics  were  supporters  of  absolute  monarchy  and  the 
Protestants  for  a  republic." 

**  Monsieur  Vidal !  "  shouted  an  assistant.     Vidal  fled. 

"I  don't  say,  sir,  that  your  book  is  not  a  masterpiece," 
replied  Porchon,  with  scanty  civility,  "  but  we  only  deal  in 
books  that  are  ready  printed.  Go  and  see  somebody  that 
buys  manuscripts.  There  is  old  Doguereau  in  the  Rue  du 
Coq,  near  the  Louvre,  he  is  in  the  romance  line.  If  you  had 
only  spoken  sooner,  you  might  have  seen  Pollet,  a  competitor 
of  Doguereau  and  of  the  publishers  in  the  Wooden  Galleries." 

"  I  have  a  volume  of  poetry " 

*'  Monsieur  Porchon  !  "  somebody  shouted. 

^ ^ Poetry !^^  Porchon  exclaimed  angrily.  "For  what  do 
you  take  me?"  he  added,  laughing  in  Lucien's  face.  And 
he  dived  into  the  regions  of  the  back  shop. 

Lucien  went  back  across  the  Pont  Neuf  absorbed  in  reflec- 
tion. From  all  that  he  understood  of  this  mercantile  dialect, 
it  appeared  that  books,  like  cotton  nightcaps,  were  to  be  re- 
garded as  articles  of  merchandise  to  be  sold  dear  and  bought 
cheap. 

"  I  have  made  a  mistake,"  said  Lucien  to' himself ;  but,  ^1 
the  same,  this  rough-and-ready  practical  aspect  of  literature 
made  an  impression  upon  him. 

In  the  Rue  du  Coq  he  stopped  in  front  of  a  modest-looking 
store,  which  he  had  passed  before.     He  saw  the  inscription. 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  59 

•■ 

DoGUEREAU,  Bookseller,  painted  above  it  in  yellow  letters 
on  a  green  ground,  and  remembered  that  he  had.  seen  the 
name  at  the  foot  of  the  title-page  of  several  novels  at  Blosse's 
reading-room.  In  he  went,  not  without  the  inward  trepida- 
tion which  a  man  of  any  imagination  feels  at  the  prospect  of 
a  battle.  Inside  the  shop  he  discovered  an  odd-looking  old 
man,  one  of  the  queer  characters  of  the  trade  in  the  days  of 
the  empire. 

Doguereau  wore  a  black  coat  with  vast  square  skirts,  when 
fashion  required  swallow-tail  coats.  His  waistcoat  was  of 
some  cheap  material,  a  checked  pattern  of  many  colors  ;  a 
steel  chain,  with  a  copper  key  attached  to  it,  hung  from  his 
fob  and  dangled  down  over  a  roomy  pair  of  black  nether 
garments.  The  bookseller's  watch  must  have  been  the  size  of 
an  onion.  Iron-gray  ribbed  stockings  and  shoes  with  silver 
buckles  completed  his  costume.  The  old  man's  head  was 
bare,  and  ornamented  with  a  fringe  of  grizzled  locks,  quite 
poetically  scanty.  "Old  Doguereau,"  as  Porchon  styled 
him,  was  dressed  half  like  a  professor  of  belles-lettres  as  to 
his  trousers  and  shoes,  half  like  a  tradesman  with  respect  to 
the  variegated  waistcoat,  the  stockings,  and  the  watch  ;  and 
the  same  odd  mixture  appeared  in  the  man  himself.  He 
united  the  magisterial,  dogmatic  air  and  the  hollow  counte- 
nance of  the  professor  of  rhetoric  with  the  sharp  eyes,  sus- 
picious mouth,  and  vague  uneasiness  of  the  bookseller. 

"  Monsieur  Doguereau  ?  "  asked  Lucien. 

**  That  is  my  name,  sir." 

"  I  am  the  author  of  a  romance,"  began  Lucien. 

"You  are  very  young,"  remarked  the  bookseller. 

"  My  age,  sir,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter." 

"True,"  and  the  old  bookseller  took  up  the  manuscript. 
"Ah,  begad  !  *  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX.,' a  good  title.  Let 
us  see  now,  young  man,  just  tell  me  your  subject  in  a  word  or 
two." 

"It  is  a  historical  work,  sir,  in  the  style  of  Scott.     The 


60  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

character  of  the  struggle  between  the  Protestants  and  Catholics 
is  depicted  as  a  struggle  between  two  opposed  systems  of  gov- 
ernment, in  which  the  throne  is  seriously  endangered.  I  have 
taken  the  Catholic  side." 

"Eh  !  but  you  have  ideas,  young  man.  Very  well,  I  will 
read  your  book,  I  promise  you.  I  would  rather  have  had 
something  more  in  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  style;  but  if  you  are  in- 
dustrious, if  you  have  some  notion  of  style,  conceptions,  ideas, 
and  the  art  of  telling  a  story,  I  don't  ask  better  than  to  be  of 
use  to  you.     What  do  we  want  but  good  manuscripts?" 

*'  When  may  I  come  back  ?  " 

*'  I  am  going  into  the  country  this  evening ;  I  shall  be  back 
again  the  day  after  to-morrow.  I  shall  have  read  your  manu- 
script by  that  time  ;  and  if  it  suits  me,  we  might  come  to  terms 
that  very  day." 

Seeing  his  acquaintance  so  easy,  Lucien  was  inspired  with 
the  unlucky  idea  of  bringing  the  "Marguerites"  upon  the 
scene. 

"  I  have  a  volume  of  poetry  as  well,  sir "  he  began. 

"  Oh  !  you  are  a  poet !  Then  I  don't  want  your  romance," 
and  the  old  man  handed  back  the  manuscript.  "  The  rhyming 
fellows  come  to  grief  when  they  try  their  hands  at  prose.  In 
prose  you  can't  use  words  that  mean  nothing;  you  absolutely 
must  say  something." 

"But  Sir  Walter  Scott,  sir,  wrote  poetry  as  well  as " 

"That  is  true,"  said  Doguereau,  relenting.  He  guessed 
that  the  young  fellow  before  him  was  poor,  and  kept  the 
manuscript.     "  Where  do  you  live  ?    I  will  come  and  see  you." 

Lucien,  all  unsuspicious  of  the  ideas  at  the  back  of  the  old 
man's  head,  gave  his  address;  he  did  not  see  that  he  had  to 
do  with  a  bookseller  of  the  old  school,  a  survival  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  when  booksellers  tried  to  keep  Voltaires 
and  Montesquieus  starving  in  garrets  under  lock  and  key. 

"  The  Latin  Quarter.  I  am  coming  back  that  very  way," 
said  Doguereau,  when  he  had  read  the  address. 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  61 

«■ 

**  Good  man  !  "  thought  Lucien,  as  he  took  his  leave.  **  So 
I  have  met  a  friend  to  young  authors,  a  man  of  taste,  who 
knows  something.  That  is  the  kind  of  man  for  me !  It  is 
just  as  I  said  to  David — talent  soon  makes  its  way  in  Paris." 

Lucien  went  home  again,  happy  and  light  of  heart;  he 
dreamed  of  glory.  He  gave  not  another  thought  to  the 
ominous  words  which  fell  on  his  ear  as  he  stood  by  the 
counter  in  Vidal  and  Porchon's  store  \  he  beheld  himself 
the  richer  by  twelve  hundred  francs  at  least.  Twelve 
hundred  francs  !  It  meant  a  year  in  Paris,  a  whole  year  of 
preparation  for  the  work  tliat  he  meant  to  do.  What  plans  he 
built  on  that  hope  !  What  sweet  dreams,  what  visions  of  a 
life  established  on  a  basis  of  work !  Mentally  he  found  new 
quarters  and  settled  himself  in  them  ;  it  would  not  have  taken 
much  to  set  him  making  a  purchase  or  two.  He  could  only 
stave  off  impatience  by  constant  reading  at  Blosse's. 

Two  days  later  old  Doguereau  came  to  the  lodgings  of  his 
budding  Sir  Walter  Scott.  He  was  struck  with  the  pains 
which  Lucien  had  taken  with  the  style  of  this  his  first  work, 
delighted  with  the  strong  contrasts  of  character  sanctioned 
by  the  epoch,  and  surprised  at  the  spirited  imaginations  which 
a  young  writer  always  displays  in  the  scheming  of  a  first  plot 
— he  had  not  been  spoiled,  had  not  old  Daddy  Doguereau. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  give  a  thousand  francs  for  "  The 
Archer  of  Charles  IX.;  "  he  would  buy  the  copyright  out  and 
out,  and  bind  Lucien  by  an  engagement  for  several  books. 
But  when  he  came  to  look  at  the  house,  the  old  fox  thought 
better  of  it. 

"A  young  fellow  that  lives  here  has  none  but  simple 
tastes,"  said  he  to  himself;  "he  is  fond  of  study,  fond  of 
work;  I  need  not  give  more  than  eight  hundred  francs." 

"Fourth  floor,"  answered  the  landlady,  when  he  asked  for 
M.  Lucien  de  Rubemprd.  The  old  bookseller,  peering  up, 
saw  nothing  but  the  sky  above  the  fourth  floor. 

"This  young  fellow,"  thought  he,  "is  a  good-looking  lad; 


62  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

one  might  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  is  very  handsome.  If 
he  were  to  make  too  much  money,  he  would  only  fall  into 
dissipated  ways  and  then  he  would  not  work.  In  the  interests 
of  us  both,  I  shall  only  offer  six  hundred  francs,  in  coin 
though,  not  paper." 

He  climbed  the  stairs  and  gave  three  taps  at  the  door. 
Lucien  came  to  open  it.  The  room  was  forlorn  in  its  bare- 
ness. A  bowl  of  milk  and  a  penny  roll  stood  on  the  table. 
The  destitution  of  genius  made  an  impression  on  Daddy 
Doguereau. 

*'  Let  him  preserve  these  simple  habits  of  life,  this  frugality, 
these  modest  requirements,"  thought  he.  Aloud  he  said: 
"It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  see  you.  Thus,  sir,  lived  Jean- 
Jacques,  whom  you  resemble  in  more  ways  than  one.  Amid 
such  surroundings  the  fire  of  genius  shines  brightly ;  good 
work  is  done  in  such  rooms  as  these.  This  is  how  men  of 
letters  should  work,  instead  of  living  riotously  in  caf^s  and 
restaurants,  wasting  their  time  and  talent  and  our  money." 

He  sat  down. 

'*  Your  romance  is  not  bad,  young  man.  I  was  a  professor 
of  rhetoric  once ;  I  know  French  history,  there  are  some 
capital  things  in  it.     You  have  a  future  before  you,  in  fact." 

"Oh!  sir." 

"  No ;  I  tell  you  so.  We  may  do  business  together.  I 
will  buy  your  romance." 

Lucien's  heart  swelled  and  throbbed  with  gladness.  He 
was  about  to  enter  the  world  of  literature ;  he  should  see  him- 
self in  print  at  last. 

"I  will  give  you  four  hundred  francs,"  continued  Do- 
guereau in  honeyed  accents,  and  he  looked  at  Lucien  with  an 
air  which  seemed  to  betoken  an  effort  of  generosity. 

**  The  volume  ?  "  queried  Lucien. 

*'  For  the  romance,"  said  Doguereau,  heedless  of  Lucien's 
surprise.  "In  ready  money,"  he  added;  "and  you  shall 
undertake  to  write  two  books  for  me  every  year  for  six  years. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  63 

If  the  first  book  is  out  of  print  in  six  months,  I  will  give  you 
six  hundred  francs  for  the  others.  So,  if  you  write  two  books 
each  year,  you  will  be  making  a  hundred  francs  a  month ;  you 
will  have  a  sure  income ;  you  will  be  well  off.  There  are 
some  authors  whom  I  only  pay  three  hundred  francs  for  a 
romance ;  I  give  two  hundred  for  translations  of  English 
books.  Such  prices  would  have  been  exorbitant  in  the  old 
days." 

*'  Sir,  we  cannot  possibly  come  to  an  understanding. 
Give  me  back  my  manuscript,  I  beg,"  said  Lucien,  in  a  cold 
chill. 

"Here  it  is,"  said  the  old  bookseller.  "You  know  noth- 
ing of  business,  sir.  Before  an  author's  first  book  can  appear, 
a  publisher  is  bound  to  sink  sixteen  hundred  francs  on  the 
paper  and  the  printing  of  it.  It  is  easier  to  write  a  romance 
than  to  find  all  that  money.  I  have  a  hundred  romances  in 
manuscript,  and  I  have  not  a  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs 
in  my  cash  box,  alas  !  I  have  not  made  so  much  in  all  these 
twenty  years  that  I  have  been  a  bookseller.  So  you  don't  make 
a  fortune  by  printing  romances,  you  see.  Vidal  andPorchon 
only  take  them  of  us  on  conditions  that  grow  harder  and  harder 
day  by  day.  You  have  only  your  time  to  lose,  while  I  am 
obliged  to  disburse  two  thousand  francs.  If  we  fail,  habeni 
sua  fata  libelli,  I  lose  two  thousand  francs ;  while,  as  for  you, 
you  simply  hurl  an  ode  at  the  thick-headed  public.  When 
you  have  thought  over  this  that  I  have  the  honor  of  telling 
you,  you  will  come  back  to  me.  You  will  come  back  to  me  /" 
he  asserted  authoritatively,  by  way  of  reply  to  a  scornful  ges- 
ture made  involuntarily  by  Lucien.  "  So  far  from  finding  a 
publisher  obliging  enough  to  risk  two  thousand  francs  for  an 
unknown  writer,  you  will  not  find  a  publisher's  clerk  that 
will  trouble  himself  to  look  through  your  screed.  Now  that 
I  have  read  it,  I  can  point  out  a  good  many  slips  in  grammar. 
You  have  put  observer  for  faire  observer  and  malgre  que. 
Malgre  is  a  preposition,  and  requires  an  object." 


64  A    PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

Lucien  appeared  to  be  humiliated.     He  was  dumfounded. 

"  When  I  see  you  again,  you  will  have  lost  a  hundred 
francs,"  he  added.     "  I  shall  only  give  a  hundred  crowns." 

With  that  he  arose  and  took  his  leave.  On  the  threshold 
he  said,  "  If  you  had  not  something  in  you,  and  a  future 
before  you ;  if  I  did  not  take  an  interest  in  studious  youth,  I 
should  not  have  made  you  such  a  handsome  offer.  A  hundred 
francs  per  month  !  Think  of  it !  After  all,  a  romance  in  a 
drawer  is  not  eating  its  head  off  like  a  horse  in  a  stable,  nor 
will  it  find  you  in  victuals  either,  and  that's  a  fact." 

Lucien  snatched  up  his  manuscript  and  dashed  it  on  the 
floor. 

"  I  would  rather  burn  it,  sir  !  "   he  exclaimed. 

"You  have  a  poet's  head,"  returned  his  senior. 

Lucien  devoured  his  bread  and  supped  his  bowl  of  milk, 
then  he  went  downstairs.  His  room  was  not  large  enough 
for  him ;  he  was  turning  round  and  round  in  it  like  a  lion  in 
a  cage  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes. 

At  the  Bibliotheque  Sainte-Genevi^ve,  whither  Lucien  was 
going,  he  had  come  to  know  a  stranger  by  sight ;  a  young 
man  of  five  and  twenty  or  thereabouts,  working  with  the  sus- 
tained industry  which  nothing  can  disturb  nor  distract,  the 
sign  by  which  your  genuine  literary  worker  is  known.  Evi- 
dently the  young  man  had  been  reading  there  for  some  time, 
for  the  librarian  and  the  attendants  all  knew  him  and  paid 
him  special  attention  ;  the  librarian  would  even  allow  him  to 
take  away  books,  with  which  Lucien  saw  him  return  in  the 
morning.  In  the  stranger  student  he  recognized  a  brother  in 
penury  and  hope. 

Pale-faced  and  slight  and  thin,  with  a  fine  forehead  hidden 
by  masses  of  black,  tolerably  unkempt  hair,  there  was  some- 
thing about  him  that  attracted  indifferent  eyes  :  it  was  a  vague 
resemblance  which  he  bore  to  portraits  of  the  young  Bona- 
parte, engraved  from  Robert  Lefebvre's  picture.  That  en- 
graving is  a  poem  of  melancholy  intensity,  of  suppressed 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  65 

ambition,  of  power  working  below  the  surface.  Study  the 
face  carefully,  and  /ou  will  discover  genius  in  it  and  discre- 
tion and  all  the  subtlety  and  greatness  of  the  man.  The 
portrait  has  speaking  eyes  like  a  woman's;  they  look  out, 
greedy  of  space,  craving  difficulties  to  vanquish.  Even  if  the 
name  of  Bonaparte  were  not  written  beneath  it,  you  would 
gaze  long  at  that  face. 

Lucien's  young  student,  the  incarnation  of  this  picture, 
usually  wore  footed  trousers,  shoes  with  thick  soles  to  them, 
an  overcoat  of  coarse  cloth,  a  black  cravat,  a  waistcoat  of 
some  gray-and-white  material  buttoned  to  the  chin,  and  a 
cheap  hat.  Contempt  for  superfluity  in  dress  was  visible  in 
his  whole  person.  Lucien  also  discovered  that  the  mysterious 
stranger  with  that  unmistakable  stamp  which  genius  sets  upon 
the  forehead  of  its  slaves  was  one  of  Flicoteaux's  most  regular 
customers ;  he  ate  to  live,  careless  of  the  fare  which  appeared 
to  be  familiar  to  him,  and  drank  water.  Wherever  Lucien 
saw  him,  at  the  library  or  at  Flicoteaux's,  there  was  a  dignity 
in  his  manner,  springing  doubtless  from  the  consciousness  of 
a  purpose  that  filled  his  life,  a  dignity  which  made  him  unap- 
proachable. He  had  the  expression  of  a  thinker,  meditation 
dwelt  on  the  fine,  nobly  carved  brow.  You  could  tell  from 
the  dark  bright  eyes,  so  clear-sighted  and  quick  to  observe, 
that  their  owner  was  wont  to  probe  to  the  bottom  of  things. 
He  gesticulated  very  little,  his  demeanor  was  grave.  Lucien 
felt  an  involuntary  respect  for  him. 

Many  times  already  the  pair  had  looked  at  each  other  at 
the  Bibliotheque  or  at  Flicoteaux's ;  many  times  they  had 
been  on  the  point  of  speaking,  but  neither  of  them  had  ven- 
tured so  far  as  yet.  The  silent  young  man  went  off  to  the 
further  end  of  the  library,  on  the  side  at  right  angles  to  the 
Place  de  la  Sorbonne,  and  Lucien  had  no  opportunity  of 
making  his  acquaintance,  although  he  felt  drawn  to  a  worker 
whom  he  knew  by  indescribable  tokens  for  a  character  of  no 
common  order.  Both,  as  they  came  to  know  afterward, 
5 


66  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

were  unsophisticated  and  shy,  given  to  fears  which  cause  a 
pleasurable  emotion  to  solitary  creatures.  Perhaps  they  never 
would  have  been  brought  into  communication  if  they  had  not 
come  across  each  other  that  day  of  Lucien's  disaster;  for,  as 
Lucien  turned  into  the  Rue  des  Gres,  he  saw  the  student  com- 
ing away  from  the  Bibliotheque  Sainte-Genevieve. 

"The  library  is  closed;  I  don't  know  why,  monsieur," 
said  he. 

Tears  were  standing  in  Lucien's  eyes;  he  expressed  his 
thanks  by  one  of  those  gestures  that  speak  more  eloquently 
than  words  and  unlock  hearts  at  once  when  two  men  meet  in 
youth.  They  went  together  along  the  Rue  des  Gres  toward 
the  Rue  de  la  Harpe. 

"As  that  is  so,  I  shall  go  to  the  Luxembourg  for  a  walk," 
said  Lucien.  "  When  you  have  come  out,  it  is  not  easy  to 
settle  down  to  work  again." 

"  No;  one's  ideas  will  not  flow  in  the  proper  current,"  re- 
marked the  stranger.  "  Something  seems  to  have  annoyed 
you,  monsieur?  " 

"  I  have  just  had  a  queer  adventure,"  said  Lucien,  and  he 
told  the  history  of  his  visit  to  the  quai,  and  gave  an  account 
of  his  subsequent  dealings  with  the  old  bookseller.  He  gave 
his  name  and  said  a  word  or  two  of  his  position.  In  one 
month  or  thereabouts  he  had  spent  sixty  francs  on  his  board, 
thirty  for  lodging,  twenty  more  francs  in  going  to  the  theatre, 
and  ten  at  Blosse's  reading-room — one  hundred  and  twenty 
francs  in  all,  and  now  he  had  just  a  hundred  and  twenty 
francs  in  hand. 

"Your  story  is  mine,  monsieur,  and  the  story  of  ten  or 
twelve  hundred  young  fellows  beside  who  come  from  the 
country  to  Paris  every  year.  There  are  others  even  worse  off 
than  we  are.  Do  you  see  that  theatre?"  he  continued,  in- 
dicating the  turrets  of  the  Od^on.  "  There  came  one  day  to 
lodge  in  one  of  the  houses  in  the  square  a  man  of  talent  who  had 
fallen  into  the  lowest  depths  of  poverty.     He  was  married,  in 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  67 

addition  to  the  misfortunes  which  we  share  with  him,  to  a  wife 
whom  he  loved  ;  and  the  poorer  or  the  richer,  as  you  will,  by 
two  children.  He  was  burdened  with  debt,  but  he  put  bis 
faith  in  his  pen.  He  took  a  comedy  in  five  acts  to  the  Odeon ; 
the  comedy  was  accepted,  the  management  arranged  to  bring 
it  out,  the  actors  learned  their  parts,  the  stage  manager  urged 
on  the  rehearsals.  Five  several  bits  of  luck ;  five  dramas  to 
be  performed  in  real  life,  and  far  harder  tasks  than  the  writing 
of  a  five-act  play.  The  poor  author  lodged  in  a  garret ;  you 
can  see  the  place  from  here.  He  drained  his  last  resources  to 
live  until  the  first  representation  ;  his  wife  pawned  her  clothes, 
they  all  lived  on  dry  bread.  On  the  day  of  the  final  rehearsal 
the  household  owed  fifty  francs  in  the  Quarter  to  the  baker, 
the  milkwoman,  and  the  porter.  The  author  had  only  the 
strictly  necessary  clothes — a  coat,  a  shirt,  trousers,  a  waist- 
coat, and  a  pair  of  boots.  He  felt  sure  of  success ;  he  kissed 
his  wife.  The  end  of  their  troubles  was  at  hand.  '  At  last ! 
There  is  nothing  against  us  now,'  cried  he.  *  Yes,  there  is 
fire,'  said  his  wife;  'look,  the  Odeon  is  on  fire!'  The 
Odeon  was  on  fire,  monsieur.  So  do  not  you  complain.  You 
have  clothes,  you  have  neither  wife  nor  child,  you  have  a 
hundred  and  twenty  francs  for*  emergencies  in  your  pocket, 
and  you  owe  no  one  a  penny.  Well,  the  piece  went  through 
a  hundred  and  fifty  representations  at  the  Theatre  Louvois. 
The  King  allowed  the  author  a  pension.  *  Genius  is  patience,' 
as  Buffon  said.  And  patience  after  all  is  man's  nearest  ap- 
proach to  nature's  processes  of  creation.  What  is  art,  mon- 
sieur, but  nature  concentrated?"  He  paused  as  if  to  impress 
these  thoughts  upon  Lucien. 

By  this  time  the  young  men  were  striding  along  the  walks  of 
the  Luxembourg,  and  in  no  long  time  Lucien  learned  the 
name  of  the  stranger  who  was  doing  his  best  to  adminis- 
ter comfort.  That  name  has  since  grown  famous.  Daniel 
d' Arthez  is  one  of  the  most  illustrious  of  living  men  of  letters ; 
one  of  the  rare  few  who  show  us  an   example  of  **  a  noble 


68  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

gift  with  a  noble  nature  combined,"  to  quote  a  poet's  fine 
thought. 

"There  is  no  cheap  route  to  greatness,"  Daniel  went  on  in 
his  kind  voice.  "  The  works  of  genius  are  watered  with  tears. 
The  gift  that  is  in  you,  like  an  existence  in  the  physical  world, 
passes  through  childhood  and  its  maladies.  Nature  sweeps 
away  sickly  or  deformed  creatures,  and  society  rejects  an  im- 
perfectly developed  talent.  Any  man  who  means  to  rise 
above  the  rest  must  make  ready  for  a  struggle  and  be  un- 
daunted by  difficulties.  A  great  writer  is  a  martyr  who  does 
not  die ;  that  is  all.  There  is  the  stamp  of  genius  on  your 
forehead,"  d'Arthez  continued,  enveloping  Lucien  by  a 
glance;  "but  unless  you  have  within  you  the  will  of  genius, 
unless  you  are  gifted  with  angelic  patience,  unless,  no  matter 
how  far  the  freaks  of  fate  have  set  you  from  your  destined 
goal,  you  can  find  the  way  to  your  infinite  as  the  turtles  in  the 
Indies  find  their  way  to  the  ocean,  you  had  better  give  up  at 
once." 

"Then  do  you  yourself  expect  these  ordeals?"  asked  Lu- 
cien. 

"  Trials  of  every  kind,  slander  and  treachery,  and  effron- 
tery and  cunning,  the  rivals  who  act  unfairly,  and  the  keen 
competition  of  the  literary  market,"  his  companion  said 
resignedly.  "What  is  a  first  loss,  if  only  your  work  was 
really  good  ? ' ' 

"  Will  you  look  at  mine  and  give  me  your  opinion?  "  asked 
Lucien. 

"  So  be  it,"  said  d'Arthez.  "lam  living  in  the  Rue  des 
Quatre-Vents.  Desplein,  one  of  the  most  illustrious  men  of 
genius  in  our  time,  the  greatest  surgeon  the  world  has  known, 
once  endured  the  martyrdom  of  early  struggles  with  the  first 
difficulties  of  a  glorious  career  in  the  same  house.  I  think 
of  that  every  night,  and  the.thought  gives  me  the  stock  of 
courage  that  I  need  every  morning.  I  am  living  in  the 
very  room  where,  like  Rousseau,  he  often  ate  bread  and 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  69 

cherries,  but,  unlike  Rousseau,  he  had  no  Theresa.  Come  in 
about  an  hour's  time.  I  shall  be  in,  and  waiting  anxiously 
for  your  return." 

The  poets  grasped  each  other's  hands  with  a  rush  of  melan- 
choly and  tender  feeling  inexpressible  in  words,  and  went  their 
separate  ways ;  Lucien  to  fetch  his  manuscript,  Daniel  d'Ar- 
thez  to  pawn  his  watch  and  buy  a  couple  of  faggots.  The 
weather  was  cold,  and  his  new-found  friend  should  find  a  fire 
in  his  room. 

Lucien  was  punctual.  He  noticed  at  once  that  the  house 
was  of  an  even  poorer  class  than  the  Hotel  de  Cluny.  A 
staircase  gradually  became  visible  at  the  further  end  of  a  dark 
passage ;  he  mounted  to  the  fifth  floor,  and  found  d' Arthez's 
room. 

A  bookcase  of  dark-stained  wood,  with  rows  of  labeled  card- 
board cases  on  the  shelves,  stood  between  the  two  crazy  win- 
dows. A  gaunt,  painted  wooden  bedstead,  of  the  kind  seen 
in  school  dormitories,  a  night-table,  picked  up  cheaply  some- 
where, and  a  couple  of  horsehair  armchairs,  filled  the  further 
end  of  the  room.  The  wall-paper,  a  Highland  plaid  pattern, 
was  glazed  over  with  the  grime  of  years.  Between  the  win- 
dow and  the  grate  stood  a  long  table  littered  with  papers,  and 
opposite  the  fireplace  there  was  a  cheap  mahogany  chest  of 
drawers.  A  second-hand  carpet  covered  the  floor — a  necessary 
luxury,  for  it  saved  firing.  A  common  office  armchair,  cush- 
ioned with  leather,  crimson  once,  but  now  hoary  with  wear, 
was  drawn  up  to  the  table.  Add  half-a-dozen  rickety  chairs, 
and  you  have  a  complete  list  of  the  furniture.  Lucien  noticed 
an  old-fashioned  candle  sconce  for  a  card-table,  with  an  ad- 
justable screen  attached,  and  wondered  to  see  four  wax-candles 
in  the  sockets.  D'Arthez  explained  that  he  could  not  endure 
the  smell  of  tallow,  a  little  trait  denoting  great  delicacy  of 
sense-perception  and  the  exquisite  sensibility  which  accom- 
panies it. 

The  reading  lasted  for  seven  hours.     Daniel  listened  con- 


70  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

scientiously,  forbearing  to  interrupt  by  word  or  comment — 
one  of  the  rarest  proofs  of  good  taste  in  a  listener. 

"Well?"  queried  Lucien,  laying  the  manuscript  on  the 
chimney-shelf. 

"You  have  made  a  good  start  on  the  right  way,"  d'Arthez 
answered  judicially,  "  but  you  must  go  over  your  work  again. 
You  must  strike  out  a  different  style  for  yourself  if  you  do  not 
mean  to  ape  Sir  Walter  Scott,  for  you  have  taken  him  for 
your  model.  You  begin,  for  instance,  as  he  begins,  with 
long  conversations  to  introduce  your  characters,  and  only 
when  they  have  said  their  say  does  description  and  action 
follow. 

**  This  opposition,  necessary  in  all  work  of  a  dramatic  kind, 
comes  last.  Just  put  the  terms  of  the  problem  the  other  way 
round.  Give  descriptions,  to  which  our  language  lends  itself 
so  admirably,  instead  of  diffuse  dialogue,  magnificent  in  Scott's 
work,  but  colorless  in  your  own.  Lead  naturally  up  to  your 
dialogue.  Plunge  straight' into  the  action.  Treat  your  sub- 
ject from  different  points  of  view,  sometimes  in  a  side-light, 
sometimes  retrospectively ;  vary  your  methods,  in  fact,  to 
diversify  your  work.  You  may  be  original  while  adapting 
the  Scotch  novelist's  form  of  dramatic  dialogue  to  French 
history.  There  is  no  passion  in  Scott's  novels ;  he  ignores 
passion,  or  perhaps  it  was  interdicted  by  the  hypocritical 
manners  of  his  country.  Woman  for  him  is  duty  incarnate. 
His  heroines,  with  possibly  one  or  two  exceptions,  are  all 
exactly  alike ;  he  has  drawn  them  all  from  the  same  model,  as 
painters  say.  They  are,  every  one  of  them,  descended  from 
Clarissa  Harlowe.  And  returning  continually,  as  he  did,  to 
the  same  idea  of  woman,  how  could  he  do  otherwise  than 
produce  a  single  type,  varied  only  by  degrees  of  vividness  in 
the  coloring?  Woman  brings  confusion  into  society  through 
passion.  Passion  gives  infinite  possibilities.  Therefore  depict 
passion ;  you  have  one  great  resource  open  to  you,  foregone  by 
the  great  genius  for  the  sake  of  providing  family  reading  for 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  71 

prudish  England.  In  France  you  have  the  charming  sinner, 
the  brightly  colored  life  of  Catholicism,  contrasted  with  sombre 
Calvin istic  figures  on  a  background  of  the  times  when  passions 
ran  higher  than  at  any  other  period  of  our  history. 

"  Every  epoch  which  has  left  authentic  records  since  the  time 
of  Charles  the  Great  calls  for  at  least  one  romance.  Some  re- 
quire four  or  five;  the  periods  of  Louis  XIV.,  of  Henry  IV., 
of  Francis  I.,  for  instance.  You  would  give  us  in  this  way  a 
picturesque  history  of  France,  with  the  costumes  and  furniture, 
the  houses  and  their  interiors,  and  domestic  life;  giving  us  the 
spirit  of  the  time  instead  of  a  laborious  narration  of  ascer- 
tained facts.  Then  there  is  further  scope  for  originality. 
You  can  remove  some  of  the  popular  delusions  which  disfigure 
the  memories  of  most  of  our  kings.  Be  bold  enough  in  this 
first  work  of  yours  to  rehabilitate  the  great  magnificent  figure 
of  Catherine,  whom  you  have  sacrificed  to  the  prejudices 
which  still  cloud  her  name.  And,  finally,  paint  Charles  IX. 
for  us  as  he  really  was,  and  not  as  Protestant  writers  have 
made  him.  Ten  years  of  persistent  work,  and  fame  and 
fortune  will  be  yours." 

By  this  time  it  was  nine  o'clock;  Lucien  followed  the 
example  set  in  secret  by  his  future  friend  by  asking  him  to 
dine  at  Edon's,  and  spent  twelve  francs  at  that  restaurant. 
During  the  dinner  Daniel  admitted  Lucien  into  the  secret  of 
his  hopes  and  studies.  Daniel  d'Arthez  would  not  allow  that 
any  writer  could  attain  to  a  pre-eminent  rank  without  a  pro- 
found knowledge  of  metaphysics.  He  was  engaged  in  ran- 
sacking the  spoils  of  ancient  and  modern  philosophy,  and  in 
the  assimilation  of  it  all ;  he  would  be  like  Moliere,  a  pro- 
found philosopher  first,  and  a  writer  of  comedies  afterward. 
He  was  studying  the  world  of  books  and  the  living  world 
about  him — thought  and  fact.  His  friends  were  learned 
naturalists,  young  doctors  of  medicine,  political  writers  and 
artists,  a  number  of  earnest  students  full  of  promise. 

D'Arthez  earned  a  living  by  a  conscientious  and  ill-paid 


72  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PA  HIS. 

work;  he  wrote  articles  for  encyclopaedias,  dictionaries  of 
biography  and  natural  science,  doing  just  enough  to  enable 
him  to  live  while  he  followed  his  own  bent,  and  neither  more 
nor  less.  He  had  a  piece  of  imaginative  work  on  hand,  under- 
taken solely  for  the  sake  of  studying  the  resources  of  language, 
an  important  psychological  study  in  the  form  of  a  novel,  un- 
finished as  yet,  for  d'Arthez  took  it  up  or  laid  it  down  as  the 
humor  struck  him,  and  kept  it  for  days  of  great  distress. 
D' Arthez's  revelations  of  himself  were  made  very  simply,  but 
to  Lucien  he  seemed  like  an  intellectual  giant ;  and  by  eleven 
o'clock,  when  they  left  the  restaurant,  he  began  to  feel  a 
sudden,  warm  friendship  for  this  nature,  unconscious  of  its 
loftiness,  this  unostentatious  worth. 

Lucien  took  d' Arthez's  advice  unquestioningly,  and  fol- 
lowed it  out  to  the  letter.  The  most  magnificent  palaces  of 
fancy  had  been  suddenly  flung  open  to  him  by  a  nobly  gifted 
mind,  matured  already  by  thought  and  critical  examinations 
undertaken  for  their  own  sake,  not  for  publication,  but  for 
the  solitary  thinker's  own  satisfaction.  The  burning  coal  had 
been  laid  on  the  lips  of  the  poet  of  Angouleme,  a  word  uttered 
by  a  hard  student  in  Paris  had  fallen  upon  ground  prepared  to 
receive  it  in  the  provincial.  Lucien  set  about  recasting  his 
work. 

In  his  gladness  at  finding  in  this  wilderness  of  Paris  a 
nature  abounding  in  generous  and  sympathetic  feeling,  the 
distinguished  provincial  did,  as  all  young  creatures  hungering 
for  affection  are  wont  to  do ;  he  fastened,  like  a  chronic  dis- 
ease, upon  this  one  friend  that  he  had  found.  He  called  for 
d'Arthez  on  his  way  to  the  Bibliotheque,  walked  with  him 
on  fine  days  in  the  Luxembourg  Gardens,  and  went  with  his 
friend  every  evening  as  far  as  the  door  of  his  lodging-house 
after  sitting  next  him  at  Flicoteaux's.  He  pressed  close  to 
his  friend's  side  as  a  soldier  might  keep  by  a  comrade  on  the 
frozen  Russian  plains. 

During  those  early  days  of  his  acquaintance,  he  noticed, 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  73 

not  without  chagrin,  that  his  presence  imposed  a  certain  re- 
straint on  the  circle  of  Daniel's  intimates.  The  talk  of  those 
superior  beings  of  whom  d'Arthez  spoke  to  him  with  such 
concentrated  enthusiasm  kept  within  the  bounds  of  a  reserve 
but  little  in  keeping  with  the  evident  warmth  of  their  friend- 
ships. At  these  times  Lucien  discreetly  took  his  leave,  a 
feeling  of  curiosity  mingling  with  the  sense  of  something 
like  pain  at  the  ostracism  to  which  he  was  subjected  by  these 
strangers,  who  all  addressed  each  other  by  their  Christian 
names.  Each  one  of  them,  like  d'Arthez,  bore  the  stamp  of 
genius  upon  his  forehead. 

After  some  private  opposition,  overcome  by  d'Arthez  with- 
out Lucien's  knowledge,  the  new-comer  was  at  length  judged 
worthy  to  make  one  of  the  cinacle  of  lofty  thinkers.  Hence- 
forward he  was  to  be  one  of  a  little  group  of  young  men  who 
met  almost  every  evening  in  d'Arthez's  room,  united  by  the 
keenest  sympathies  and  by  the  earnestness  of  their  intellectual 
life.  They  all  foresaw  a  great  writer  in  d'Arthez  ;  they  looked 
upon  him  as  their  chief  since  the  loss  of  one  of  their  number, 
a  mystical  genius,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  intellects  of 
the  age.  This  former  leader  had  gone  back  to  his  province 
for  reasons  on  which  it  serves  no  purpose  to  enter,  but  Lucien 
often  heard  them  speak  of  this  absent  friend  as  "Louis." 
Several  of  the  group  were  destined  to  fall  by  the  way ;  but 
others,  like  d'Arthez,  have  since  won  all  the  fame  that  was 
their  due.  A  few  details  as  to  the  circle  will  readily  explain 
Lucien's  strong  feeling  of  interest  and  curiosity. 

One  among  those  who  still  survive  was  Horace  Bianchon, 
then  a  house-student  at  the  Hotel-Dieu ;  later,  a  shining  light 
at  the  Ecole  de  Paris,  and  now  so  well  known  that  it  is  need- 
less to  give  any  description  of  his  appearance,  genius,  or 
character. 

Next  came  Leon  Giraud,  that  profound  philosopher  and 
bold  theorist,  turning  all  systems  inside  out,  criticising,  ex- 
pressing, and  formulating,  dragging  them  all  to  the  feet  of 


74  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

his  idol — Humanity ;  great  even  in  his  errors,  for  his  hon- 
esty ennobled  his  mistakes.  An  intrepid  toiler,  a  conscien- 
tious scholar,  he  became  the  acknowledged  head  of  a  school 
of  moralists  and  politicians.  Time  alone  can  pronounce  upon 
the  merits  of  his  theories;  but  if  his  convictions  have  drawn 
him  into  paths  in  which  none  of  his  old  comrades  tread,  none 
the  less  he  is  still  their  faithful  friend. 

Art  was  represented  by  Joseph  Bridau,  one  of  the  best 
painters  among  the  younger  men.  But  for  a  too  impression- 
able nature,  which  made  havoc  of  Joseph's  heart,  he  might 
have  continued  the  tradition  of  the  great  Italian  masters, 
though,  for  that  matter,  the  last  word  has  not  yet  been  said 
concerning  him.  He  combines  Roman  outline  with  Venetian 
color ;  but  love  is  fatal  to  his  work,  love  not  merely  transfixes 
his  heart,  but  sends  his  arrow  through  the  brain,  deranges  the 
course  of  his  life,  and  sets  the  victim  describing  the  strangest 
zigzags.  If  the  mistress  of  the  moment  is  too  kind  or  too 
cruel,  Jbseph  will  send  into  the  exhibition  sketches  where  the 
drawing  is  clogged  with  color,  or  pictures  finished  under  the 
stress  of  some  imaginary  woe,  in  which' he  gave  his  whole 
attention  to  the  drawing,  and  left  the  color  to  take  care  of 
itself.  He  is  a  constant  disappointment  to  his  friends  and 
the  public ;  yet  Hoffmann  would  have  worshiped  him  for  his 
daring  experiments  in  the  realms  of  art,  for  his  caprices,  for  a 
certain  fantastic  streak  in  his  work.  When  Bridau  is  wholly 
himself  he  is  admirable,  and,  as  praise  is  sweet  to  him,  his 
disgust  is  great  when  no  one  praises  the  failures  in  which  he 
alone"  discovers  all  that  is  lacking  in  the  eyes  of  the  public. 
He  is  whimsical  to  the  last  degree.  His  friends  have  seen 
him  destroy  a  finished  picture  because,  in  his  eyes,  it  looked 
too  smooth.  "It  is  overdone,"  he  would  say;  "it  is  nig- 
gling work." 

With  his  eccentric,  yet  lofty  nature,  with  a  nervous  organiza- 
tion and  all  that  it  entails  of  torment  and  delight,  the  crav- 
ing for  perfection  becomes  morbid.     Intellectually  he  is  akin 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  76 

to  Sterne,  though  he  is  not  a  literary  worker.  There  is  an 
indescribable  piquancy  about  his  epigrams  and  sallies  of 
thought.  He  is  eloquent,  he  knows  how  to  love,  but  the  un- 
certainty that  appears  in  his  execution  is  a  part  of  the  very 
nature  of  the  man.  The  brotherhood  loved  him  for  the  very 
qualities  which  the  Philistine  would  style  defects. 

Last  among  the  living  comes  Fulgence  Ridal.  No  writer 
of  our  time  possesses  more  of  the  exuberant  spirit  of  pure 
comedy  than  this  poet,  careless  of  fame,  who  will  fling  his 
more  commonplace  productions  to  theatrical  managers  and 
keep  the  most  charming  scenes  in  the  seraglio  of  his  brain  for 
himself  and  his  friends.  Of  the  public  he  asks  just  sufficient 
to  secure  his  independence,  and  then  declines  to  do  anything 
more.  Indolent  and  prolific  as  Rossini,  compelled,  like  great 
poet-comedians,  as  Moliere  and  Rabelais,  to  see  both  sides  of 
everything,  and  all  that  is  to  be  said  both  for  and  against,  he 
is  a  skeptic,  ready  to  laugh  at  all  things.  Fulgence  Ridal  is  a 
great  practical  philosopher.  His  worldly  wisdom,  his  genius 
for  observation,  his  contempt  for  fame  (*'  fuss,"  as  he  calls  it) 
have  not  seared  a  kind  heart.  He  is  as  energetic  on  behalf 
of  another  as  he  is  careless  where  his  own  interests  are  con- 
cerned ;  and  if  he  bestirs  himself,  it  is  for  a  friend.  Living 
up  to  his  Rabelaisian  mask,  he  is  no  enemy  to  good-cheer, 
though  he  never  goes  out  of  his  way  to  find  it ;  he  is  melan- 
choly and  gay.  His  friends  dubbed  him  the  "  Dog  of  the 
Regiment."  You  could  have  no  better  portrait  of  the  man 
than  his  nickname. 

Three  more  of  the  band,  at  least  as  remarkable  as  the 
friends  who  have  just  been  sketched  in  outline,  were  destined 
to  fall  by  the  way.  Of  these,  Meyraux  was  the  first.  Meyraux 
died  after  stirring  up  the  famous  controversy  between  Cuvier 
and  Goeffroy  Saint-Hilaire,  a  great  question  which  divided 
the  whole  scientific  world  into  two  opposite  camps,  with  these 
two  men  of  equal  genius  as  leaders.  This  befell  some  months 
before   the  death   of    the   champion   of  rigorous  analytical 


76  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PA  HIS. 

science  as  opposed  to  the  pantheism  of  one  who  is  still  living 
to  bear  an  honored  name  in  Germany.  Meyraux  was  the 
friend  of  that  **  Louis  "  of  whom  death  was  so  soon  to  rob  the 
intellectual  world. 

With  these  two,  both  marked  by  death,  and  unknown  to- 
day in  spite  of  their  wide  knowledge  and  their  genius,  stands 
a  third,  Michel  Chrestien,  the  great  republican  thinker,  who 
dreamed  of  European  federation,  and  had  no  small  share  in 
bringing  about  the  Saint-Simonian  movement  of  1830.  A 
politician  of  the  calibre  of  Saint-Just  and  Danton,  but  simple, 
meek  as  a  maid,  and  brimful  of  illusions  and  loving-kindness; 
the  owner  of  a  singing  voice  which  would  have  sent  Mozart, 
or  Weber,  or  Rossini  into  ecstasies,  for  his  singing  of  certain 
songs  of  B^ranger's  could  intoxicate  the  heart  in  you  with 
poetry,  or  hope,  or  love — Michel  Chrestien,  poor  as  Lucien, 
poor  as  Daniel  d'Arthez,  as  all  the  rest  of  his  friends,  gained 
a  living  with  the  hap-hazard  indifference  of  a  Diogenes.  He 
indexed  lengthy  works,  he  drew  up  prospectuses  for  book- 
sellers, and  kept  his  doctrines  to  himself  as  the  grave  keeps 
the  secrets  of  the  dead.  Yet  the  gay  Bohemian  of  intellec- 
tual life,  the  great  statesman  who  might  have  changed  the 
face  of  the  world,  fell  as  a  private  soldier  in  the  cloister  of 
Saint-Merri ;  some  storekeeper's  bullet  struck  down  one  of  the 
noblest  creatures  that  ever  trod  French  soil,  and  Michel 
Chrestien  died  for  other  doctrines  than  his  own.  His  federa- 
tion scheme  was  more  dangerous  to  the  aristocracy  of  Europe 
than  the  republican  propaganda ;  it  was  more  feasible  and 
less  extravagant  than  the  hideous  doctrines  of  indefinite 
liberty  proclaimed  by  the  young  madcaps  who  assume  the 
character  of  heirs  of  the  convention.  All  who  knew  the 
noble  plebeian  wept  for  him  ;  there  is  not  one  of  them  but 
remembers,  and  often  remembers,  a  great  obscure  politician. 

Esteem  and  friendship  kept  the  peace  between  the  extremes 
of  hostile  opinion  and  conviction  represented  in  the  brother- 
hood.    Daniel  d'Arthez  came  of  a  good  family  in  Picardy. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  TJ 

His  belief  in  the  monarchy  was  quite  as  strong  as  Michel 
Chrestien's  faith  in  European  federation.  Fulgence  Ridal 
scoffed  at  Leon  Giraud's  philosophical  doctrines,  while  Giraud 
himself  prophesied  for  d'Arthez's  benefit  the  approaching  end 
of  Christianity  and  the  extinction  of  the  institution  of  the 
family.  Michel  Chrestien,  a  believer  in  the  religion  of 
Christ,  the  divine  lawgiver,  who  taught  the  equality  of  men, 
would  defend  the  immortality  of  the  soul  from  Bianchon's 
scalpel,  for  Horace  Bianchon  was  before  all  things  an  analyst. 

There  was  plenty  of  discussion,  but  no  bickering.  Vanity 
was  not  engaged,  for  the  speakers  were  also  the  audience. 
They  would  talk  over  their  work  among  themselves  and  take 
counsel  of  each  other  with  the  delighful  openness  of  youth. 
If  the  matter  in  hand  was  serious,  the  opponent  would  leave 
his  own  position  to  enter  into  his  friend's  point  of  view ;  and, 
being  an  impartial  judge  in  a  matter  outside  his  own  sphere, 
would  prove  the  better  helper ;  envy,  the  hideous  treasure  of 
disappointment,  abortive  talent,  failure,  and  mortified  vanity, 
was  quite  unknown  among  them.  All  of  them,  moreover, 
were  going  their  separate  ways.  For  these  reasons,  Lucien 
and  others  admitted  to  their  society  felt  at  their  ease  in  it. 
Wherever  you  find  real  talent,  you  will  find  frank  good-fellow- 
ship and  sincerity  and  no  sort  of  pretension ;  the  wit  that 
caresses  the  intellect  and  is  never  aimed  at  self-love. 

When  the  first  nervousness,  caused  by  respect,  wore  off,  it 
was  unspeakably  pleasant  to  make  one  of  this  elect  company 
of  youth.  Familiarity  did  not  exclude  in  each  a  conscious- 
ness of  his  own  value,  nor  a  profound  esteem  for  his  neigh- 
bor; and,  finally,  as  every  member  of  the  circle  felt  that  he 
could  afford  to  receive  or  give,  no  one  made  a  difficulty  of 
accepting.  Talk  was  unflagging,  full  of  charm,  and  ranging 
over  the  most  varied  topics ;  words  light  as  arrows  sped  to  the 
mark.  There  was  a  strange  contrast  between  the  dire  material 
poverty  in  which  the  young  men  livfed  and  the  splendor  of 
their  intellectual  wealth.     They  looked  upon  the  practical 


78  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  ' 

problems  of  existence  simply  as  matter  for  friendly  jokes. 
The  cold  weather  happened  to  set  in  early  that  year.  Five 
of  d'Arthez's  friends  appeared  one  day,  each  concealing  fire- 
wood under  his  cloak  ;  the  same  idea  had  occurred  to  the  five, 
as  it  sometimes  happens  that  all  the  guests  at  a  picnic  are  in- 
spired with  the  notion  of  bringing  a  pie  as  their  contribution. 

All  of  them  were  gifted  with  the  moral  beauty  which  reacts 
upon  the  physical  form,  and,  no  less  than  work  and  vigils, 
overlays  a  youthful  face  with  a  shade  of  divine  gold^  purity 
of  life  and  the  fire  of  thought  had  brought  refinement  and 
regularity  into  features  somewhat  pinched  and  rugged.  The 
poet's  amplitude  of  brow  was  a  striking  characteristic  com- 
mon to  them  all ;  the  bright,  sparkling  eyes  told  of  cleanli- 
ness of  life.  The  hardships  of  penury,  when  they  were  felt  at 
all,  were  so  gaily  borne  and  embraced  with  such  enthusiasm  that 
they  had  left  no  trace  to  mar  the  serenity  peculiar  to  the  faces 
of  the  young  who  have  no  grave  errors  laid  to  their  charge  as 
yet,  who  have  not  stooped  to  any  of  the  base  compromises 
wrung  from  impatience  of  poverty  by  the  strong  desire  to 
succeed.  The  temptation  to  use  any  means  to  this  end  is  the 
greater  since  that  men  of  letters  are  lenient  with  bad  faith 
and  extend  an  easy  indulgence  to  treachery. 

There  is  an  element  in  friendship  which  doubles  its 
charm  and  renders  it  indissoluble — a  sense  of  certainty 
which  is  lacking  in  love.  These  young  men  were  sure  of 
themselves  and  of  each  other;  the  enemy  of  one  was  the 
enemy  of  all ;  the  most  urgent  personal  considerations  would 
have  been  shattered  if  they  had  clashed  with  the  sacred 
solidarity  of  their  fellowship.  All  alike  incapable  of  disloy- 
alty, they  could  oppose  a  formidable  NO  to  any  accusation 
brought  against  the  absent  and  defend  them  with  perfect 
confidence.  With  a  like  nobility  of  nature  and  strength  of 
feeling,  it  was  possible  to  think  and  speak  freely  on  all  mat- 
ters of  intellectual  or  Scientific  interest ;  hence  the  honesty 
of  their  friendships,  the  gaiety  of  their  talk,  and  with  this 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  79 

«■ 

intellectual  freedom  of  the  community  there  was  no  fear  of 
being  misunderstood  ;  they  stood  upon  no  ceremony  with 
each  other;  they  shared  their  troubles  and  joys,  and  ^ave 
thought  and  sympathy  from  full  hearts.  The  charming  deli- 
cacy of  feeling  which  makes  the  tale  of  "  Deux  Amis  "  (Two 
Friends)  a  treasury  for  great  souls  was  the  rule  of  their  daily 
life.  It  may  be  imagined,  therefore,  that  their  standard  of 
requirements  was  not  an  easy  one ;  they  were  too  conscious 
of  their  worth,  too  well  aware  of  their  happiness,  to  care 
to  trouble  their  life  with  the  admixture  of  a  new  and  unknown 
element. 

This  federation  of  interests  and  affection  lasted  for  twenty 
years  without  a  collision  or  disappointment.  Death  alone 
could  thin  the  numbers  of  the  noble  Pleiades,  taking  first 
Louis  Lambert,  later  Meyraux  and  Michel  Chrestien. 

When  Michel  Chrestien  fell  in  1832  his  friends  went,  in 
spite  of  the  perils  of  the  step,  to  find  his  body  at  Saint- 
Merri;  and  Horace  Bianchon,  Daniel  d'Arthez,  Leon  Giraud, 
Joseph  Bridau,  and  Fulgence  Ridal  performed  the  last  duties 
to  the  dead,  between  two  political  fires.  By  night  they  buried 
their  beloved  in  the  cemetery  of  Pdre-Lachaise ;  Horace  Bi- 
anchon, undaunted  by  the  difficulties,  cleared  them  away  one 
after  another — it  was  he  indeed  who  besought  the  authorities 
for  permission  to  bury  the  fallen  insurgent  and  confessed  to 
his  old  friendship  with  the  dead  Federalist.  The  little  group 
of  friends  present  at  the  funeral  with  those  five  great  men 
will  never  forget  that  touching  scene. 

As  you  walk  in  the  trim  cemetery  you  will  see  a  grave  pur- 
chased in  perpetuity,  a  grass-covered  mound  with  a  dark 
wooden  cross  above  it,  and  the  name  in  large  red  letters — 
Michel  Chrestien.  There  is  no  other  monument  like  it. 
The  friends  thought  to  pay  a  tribute  to  the  sternly  simple 
nature  of  the  man  by  the  simplicity  of  the  record  of  his 
death. 

So,  in  that  chilly  garret,  the  fairest  dreams  of  friendship 


80  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PA  HIS. 

were  realized.  These  men  were  brothers  leading  lives  of  in- 
tellectual effort,  loyally  helping  each  other,  making  no  reser- 
vations, not  even  of  their  worst  thoughts;  men  of  vast 
acquirements,  natures  tried  in  the  crucible  of  poverty.  Once 
admitted  as  an  equal  among  such  elect  souls,  Lucien  repre- 
sented beauty  and  poetry.  They  admired  the  sonnets  which 
he  read  to  them ;  they  would  ask  him  for  a  sonnet  as  he  would 
ask  Michel  Chrestien  for  a  song.  And  in  the  desert  of  Paris 
Lucien  found  an  oasis  of  restful  peace  in  the  Rue  des  Quatre- 
Vents. 

At  the  beginning  of  October,  Lucien  had  spent  the  last  of 
his  money  on  a  little  firewood  ;  he  was  half-way  through  the 
task  of  recasting  his  work,  the  most  strenuous  of  all  toil,  and 
he  was  penniless.  As  for  Daniel  d'Arthez,  burning  blocks 
of  spent  tan  and  facing  poverty  like  a  hero,  not  a  word  of 
complaint  came  from  him ;  he  was  as  sober  as  any  elderly 
spinster  and  methodical  as  a  miser.  This  courage  called  out 
Lucien's  courage ;  he  had  only  newly  come  into  the  circle, 
and  shrank  with  invincible  repugnance  from  speaking  of  his 
straits.  One  morning  he  went  out,  manuscript  in  hand,  and 
reached  the  Rue  du  Coq ;  he  would  sell  "  The  Archer  of 
Charles  IX."  to  Doguereau;  but  Doguereau  was  out.  Lucien 
little  knew  how  indulgent  great  natures  can  be  to  the  weak- 
nesses of  others.  Every  one  of  the  friends  had  thought  of 
the  peculiar  troubles  besetting  the  poetic  temperament,  of 
the  prostration  which  follows  upon  the  struggle,  when  the 
soul  has  been  overwrought  by  the  contemplation  of  that  na- 
ture which  it  is  the  task  of  art  to  reproduce.  And  strong  as 
they  were  to  endure  their  own  ills,  they  felt  keenly  for  Lu- 
cien's distress ;  they  guessed  that  his  stock  of  money  was 
failing ;  and  after  all  the  pleasant  evenings  spent  in  friendly 
talk  and  deep  meditations,  after  the  poetry,  the  confidences, 
the  bold  flights  over  the  fields  of  thought  or  into  the  far  fu- 
ture of  the  nations,  yet  another  trait  was  to  prove  how  little 
Lucien  had  understood  these  new  friends  of  his. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  81 

"  Lucien,  dear  fellow,"  said  Daniel,  "  you  did  not  dine  at 
Flicoteaux's  yesterday,  and  we  know  why." 

Lucien  could  not  keep  back  the  overflowing  tears. 

"You  showed  a  want  of  confidence  in  us,"  said  Michel 
Chrestien  ;  "we  shall  chalk  that  up  over  the  chimney,  and 
when  we  have  scored  ten  we  will " 

"  We  have  all  of  us  found  a  bit  of  extra  work,"  said  Bian- 
chon  ;  "for  my  own  part,  I  have  been  looking  after  a  rich 
patient  for  Desplein  ;  d'Arthez  has  written  an  article  for  the 
*  Revue  Encyclopedique ; '  Chrestien  thought  of  going  out  to 
sing  in  the  Champs-Elysees  of  an  evening  with  a  pocket-hand- 
kerchief and  four  candles,  but  he  found  a  pamphlet  to  write 
instead  for  a  man  who  has  a  mind  to  go  into  politics,  and 
gave  his  employer  six  hundred  francs'  worth  of  Machiavelli ; 
Leon  Giraud  borrowed  fifty  francs  of  his  publisher ;  Joseph 
sold  one  or  two  sketches  ;  and  Fulgence's  piece  was  given  on 
Sunday,  and  there  was  a  full  house." 

"  Here  are  two  hundred  francs,"  said  Daniel,  "  and  let  us 
say  no  more  about  it." 

"Why,  if  he  is  not  going  to  hug  us  all  as  if  we  had  done 
something  extraordinary  !  "  cried  Chrestien. 

Lucien,  meanwhile,  had  written  to  the  home  circle.  His 
letter  was  a  masterpiece  of  sensibility  and  good-will,  as  well 
as  a  sharp  cry  wrung  from  him  by  distress.  The  answers 
which  he  received  the  next  day  will  give  some  idea  of  the 
delight  that  Lucien  took  in  this  living  encyclopedia  of  angelic 
spirits,  each  one  of  whom  bore  the  stamp  of  the  art  or  science 
which  he  followed : 

David  Sechard  io  Lucien. 

"  My  dear  Lucien  : — Enclosed  herewith  is  a  bill  at  ninety 
days,  payable  to  your  order,  for  two  hundred  francs.     You 
can  draw  on  M.  Metivier,  paper  merchant,  our  Paris  corre- 
spondent in  the  Rue  Serpente.     My  good  Lucien,  we  have 
6 


82  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

absolutely  nothing.  Eve  has  undertaken  the  charge  of  the 
printing-house,  and  works  at  her  task  with  such  devotion, 
patience,  and  industry  that  I  bless  heaven  for  giving  me  such 
an  angel  for  a  wife.  She  herself  says  that  it  is  impossible  to 
send  you  the  least  help.  But  I  think,  ray  friend,  now  that 
you  are  started  in  so  promising  a  way,  with  such  great  and 
noble  hearts  for  your  companions,  that  you  can  hardly  fail  to 
reach  the  greatness  to  which  you  were  born,  aided  as  you 
are  by  intelligence  almost  divine  in  Daniel  d'Arthez  and 
Michel  Chrestien  and  L6on  Giraud,  and  counseled  by  Mey- 
raux  and  Bianchon  and  Ridal,  whom  we  have  come  to  know 
through  your  dear  letter.  So  I  have  drawn  this  bill  without 
Eve's  knowledge,  and  I  will  contrive  somehow  to  meet  it 
when  the  time  comes.  Keep  on  your  way,  Lucien  ;  it  is 
rough,  but  it  will  be  glorious.  I  can  bear  anything  but  the 
thought  of  you  sinking  into  the  sloughs  of  Paris,  of  which  I 
saw  so  much.  Have  sufficient  strength  of  mind  to  do  as  you 
are  doing,  and  keep  out  of  scrapes  and  bad  company,  wild 
young  fellows  and  men  of  letters  of  a  certain  stamp,  whom  I 
learned  to  take  at  their  just  valuation  when  I  lived  in  Paris. 
Be  a  worthy  compeer  of  the  divine  spirits  whom  we  have 
learned  to  love  through  you.  Your  life  will  soon  meet  with 
its  reward.  Farewell,  dearest  brother ;  you  have  sent  trans- 
ports of  joy  to  my  heart.  I  did  not  expect  such  courage  of 
you. 

"David." 

Eve  Sichard  to  Lucien. 

"  Dear  : — Your  letter  made  all  of  us  cry.  As  for  the  noble 
hearts  to  whom  your  good  angel  surely  led  you,  tell  them  that 
a  mother  and  a  poor  young  wife  will  pray  for  them  night  and 
morning;  and  if  the  most  fervent  prayers  can  reach  the 
Throne  of  God,  surely  they  will  bring  blessings  upon  you  all. 
Their  names  are  engraved  upon  my  heart.  Ah  !  some  day  I 
shall  see  your  friends ;  I  will  go  to  Paris,  if  I  have  to  walk 


A  ^OVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  83 

the  whole  way,  to  thank  them  for  their  friendship  for  you,  for 
to  me  the  thought  has  been  like  balm  to  smarting  wounds. 
We  are  working  like  day  laborers  here,  dear.  This  husband 
of  mine,  the  unknown  great  man  whom  I  love  more  and  more 
every  day,  as  I  discover  moment  by  moment  the  wealth  of  his 
nature,  leaves  the  printing-house  almost  entirely  to  me.  Why, 
I  guess.  Our  poverty — yours,  and  ours,  and  our  mother's — is 
heart-breaking  to  him.  Our  adored  David  is  a  Prometheus 
gnawed  by  a  vulture,  a  haggard,  sharp-beaked  regret.  As  for 
himself,  dear,  noble  fellow,  he  scarcely  thinks  of  himself;  he  is 
hoping  to  make  a  fortune  for  us.  He  spends  his  whole  time 
in  experiments  in  paper-making ;  he  begged  me  to  take  his 
place  and  look  after  the  business,  and  gives  me  as  much  help 
as  his  pre-occupation  allows.  Alas  !  I  shall  be  a  mother  soon. 
That  should  have  been  a  crowning  joy ;  but  as  things  are,  it 
saddens  me.  Poor  mother  !  she  has  grown  young  again  ;  she 
has  found  strength  to  go  back  to  her  tiring  nursing.  We 
should  be  happy  if  it  were  not  for  these  money  cares.  Old 
Father  Sechard  will  not  give  his  son  a  farthing.  David  went 
over  to  see  if  he  could  borrow  a  little  for  you,  for  we  were  in 
despair  over  your  letter.  *  I  know  Lucien,'  David  said  ;  *he 
will  lose  his  head  and  do  something  rash.'  I  gave  him  a  good 
scolding.  *  My  brother  disappoint  us  in  any  way  ! '  I  told 
him,  'Lucien  knows  that  I  should  die  of  sorrows.'  Mother 
and  I  have  pawned  a  few  things ;  David  does  not  know  about 
it,  mother  will  redeem  them  as  soon  as  she  has  made  a  little 
money.  In  this  way  we  have  managed  to  put  together  a 
hundred  francs,  which  I  am  sending  you  by  the  coach.  If  I 
did  not  answer  your  last  letter,  do  not  remember  it  against 
me,  dear ;  we  were  working  all  night  just  then.  I  have  been 
working  like  a  man.  Oh,  I  had  no  idea  that  I  was  so  strong ! 
**  Mme.  de  Bargeton  is  a  heartless  woman  ;  she  has  no  soul ; 
even  if  she  cared  for  you  no  longer,  she  owed  it  to  herself  to 
use  her  influence  for  you  and  to  help  you  when  she  had  torn 
you  from  us  to  plunge  you  into  that  dreadful  sea  of  Paris. 


84  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

Only  by  the  special  blessing  of  heaven  could  you  have  met 
with  true  friends  there  among  those  crowds  of  men  and  innu- 
merable interests.  She  is  not  worth  a  regret.  I  used  to  wish 
that  there  might  be  some  devoted  woman  always  with  you,  a 
second  myself;  but  now  I  know  that  your  friends  will  take 
my  place,  and  I  am  happy.  Spread  your  wings,  my  dear 
great  genius,  you  will  be  our  pride  as  well  as  our  beloved. 

"Eve." 

"My  darling,"  the  mother  wrote,  *'I  can  only  add  my 
blessing  to  all  that  your  sister  says,  and  assure  you  that  you 
are  more  in  my  thoughts  and  in  my  prayers  (alas  !)  than  those 
whom  I  see  daily ;  for  some  hearts  the  absent  are  always  in 
the  right,  and  so  it  is  with  the  heart  of  your  mother." 

So  two  days  after  the  loan  was  offered  so  graciously,  Lucien 
repaid  it.  Perhaps  life  had  never  seemed  so  bright  to  him  as 
that  moment ;  but  the  touch  of  self-love  in  his  joy  did  not 
escape  the  delicate  sensibility  and  searching  eyes  of  his  friends. 

"Any  one  might  think  that  you  were  afraid  to  owe  us  any- 
thing," exclaimed  Fulgence. 

"  Oh  !  the  pleasure  that  he  takes  in  returning  the  money  is 
a  very  serious  symptom  to  my  mind,"  said  Michel  Chrestien. 
"  It  confirms  some  observations  of  my  own.  There  is  a  spice 
of  vanity  in  Lucien." 

"  He  is  a  poet,"  said  d'Arthez. 

"But  do  you  grudge  me  such  a  very  natural  feeling?" 
asked  Lucien. 

"We  should  bear  in  mind  that  he  did  not  hide  it,"  said 
L6on  Giraud;  "he  is  still  open  with  us;  but  I  am  afraid 
that  he  may  come  to  feel  shy  of  us." 

"And  why?"  Lucien  asked. 

"We  can  read  your  thoughts,"  answered  Joseph  Bridau. 

"  There  is  a  diabolical  spirit  in  you  that  will  seek  to  justify 
courses  which  are  utterly  contrary  to  our  principles.     Instead 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  85 

of  being  a  sophist  in  theory,  you  will  be  a  sophist  in  prac- 
tice." 

"Ah!  I  am  afraid  of  that,"  said  d'Arthez.  "You  will 
carry  on  admirable  debates  in  your  own  mind,  Lucien,  and 
take  up  a  lofty  position  in  theory,  and  end  by  blameworthy 
actions.     You  will  never  be  at  one  with  yourself." 

*'  What  ground  have  you  for  these  charges?  " 

"Thy  vanity,  dear  poet,  is  so  great  that  it  intrudes  itself 
even  into  thy  friendships  !  "  cried  Fulgence.  "All  vanity  of 
that  sort  is  a  symptom  of  shocking  egoism,  and  egoism  poisons 
friendship." 

"Oh  !  dear,"  said  Lucien,  "you  cannot  know  how  much 
I  love  you  all," 

"  If  you  loved  us  as  we  love  you,  would  you  have  been  in 
such  a  hurry  to  return  the  money  which  we  had  such  pleasure 
in  lending  ?  or  have  made  so  much  of  it  ?  " 

"We  don't  lend  here;  we  give,"  said  Joseph  Bridau 
roughly. 

"Don't  think  us  unkind,  dear  boy,"  said  Michel  Chres- 
tien  ;  "  we  are  looking  forward.  We  are  afraid  lest  some  day 
you  may  prefer  a  petty  revenge  to  the  joys  of  pure  friendship. 
Read  Goethe's  *  Tasso,'  the  great  master's  greatest  work,  and 
you  will  see  how  the  poet-hero  loved  gorgeous  stuffs  and  ban- 
quets and  triumph  and  applause.  Very  well,  be  Tasso  with- 
out his  folly.  Perhaps  the  world  and  its  pleasures  tempt  you  ? 
Stay  with  us.  Carry  all  the  cravings  of  vanity  into  the 
world  of  imagination.  Transpose  folly.  Keep  virtue  for 
daily  wear,  and  let  imagination  run  riot,  instead  of  doing,  as 
d'Arthez  says,  thinking  high  thoughts  and  living  beneath 
them." 

Lucien  hung  his  head.     His  friends  were  right. 

"I  confess  that  you  are  stronger  than  I,"  he  said,  with  a 
charming  glance  at  them.  "  My  back  and  shoulders  are  not 
made  to  bear  the  burden  of  Paris  life  ;  I  cannot  struggle 
bravely.     We  are  born  with  different  temperaments  and  facul- 


86  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

ties,  and  you  know  better  than  I  that  faults  and  virtues  have 
their  reverse  side.     I  am  tired  already,  I  confess." 

"We  will  stand  by  you,"  said  d'Arthez;  ''it  is  just  in 
these  ways  that  a  faithful  friendship  is  of  use." 

"  The  help  that  I  have  just  received  is  precarious,  and 
every  one  of  us  is  just  as  poor  as  another ;  want  will  soon 
overtake  me  again,  Chrestien,  at  the  service  of  the  first  that 
hires  him,  can  do  nothing  with  the  publishers;  Bianchon  is 
quite  out  of  it ;  d'Arthez's  booksellers  only  deal  in  scientific 
and  technical  books — they  have  no  connection  with  pub- 
lishers of  new  literature ;  and  as  for  Horace  and  Fulgence 
Ridal  and  Bridau,  their  work  lies  miles  away  from  the  book- 
sellers. There  is  no  help  for  it ;  I  must  make  up  my  mind 
one  way  or  another." 

"  Stick  by  us,  and  make  up  your  mind  to  it,"  said  Bian- 
chon.    "  Bear  up  bravely,  and  trust  in  hard  work." 

"But  what  is  hardship  for  you  is  death  for  me,"  Lucien 
put  in  quickly. 

"Before  the  cock  crows  thrice,"  smiled  L6on  Giraud, 
"  this  man  will  betray  the  cause  of  work  for  an  idle  life  and 
the  vices  of  Paris." 

"Where  has  work  brought  you?"  asked  Lucien,  laughing. 

"When  you  start  out  from  Paris  for  Italy,  you  don't  find 
Rome  half-way,"  said  Joseph  Bridau.  "  You  want  your  peas 
to  grow  ready  buttered  for  you." 

"  They  only  grow  like  that  for  young  dukes,"  said  Michel 
Chrestien.  "  But  the  rest  of  us  sow  them  and  water  them, 
and  like  the  flavor  of  them  all  the  better." 

The  conversation  ended  in  a  joke,  and  they  changed  the 
subject.  Lucien's  friends,  with  their  perspicacity  and  deli- 
cacy of  heart,  tried  to  efface  the  memory  of  the  little  quarrel ; 
but  Lucien  knew  thenceforward  that  it  was  no  easy  matter  to 
deceive  them.  He  soon  fell  into  despair,  which  he  was  care- 
ful to  hide  from  such  stern  mentors  as  he  imagined  them  to 
be  J  and  the  Southern  temper  that  runs  so  easily  through  the 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  87 

«• 
whole  gamut  of  mental  dispositions  set  him  making  the  most 

contradictory  resolutions. 

Again  and  again  he  talked  of  making  the  plunge  into  jour- 
nalism \  and  time  after  time  did  his  friends  reply  with  a 
*'  Mind  you  do  nothing  of  the  sort !  " 

"  It  would  be  the  tomb  of  the  beautiful,  gracious  Lucien 
whom  we  love  and  know,"  said  d'Arthez. 

"You  would  not  hold  for  long  between  the  two  extremes 
of  toil  and  pleasure  which  make  up  a  journalist's  life,  and  re- 
sistance is  the  very  foundation  of  virtue.  You  would  be  so 
delighted  to  exercise  your  power  of  life  and  death  over  the 
offspring  of  the  brain  that  you  would  be  an  out-and-out  jour- 
nalist in  two  months'  time.  To  be  a  journalist — that  is  to 
turn  Herod  in  the  republic  of  letters.  The  man  who  will  say 
anything  will  end  by  sticking  at  nothing.  That  was  Napo* 
Icon's  maxim,  and  it  explains  itself." 

**  But  you  would  be  with  me,  would  you  not?"  asked 
Lucien. 

•*  Not  by  that  time,"  said  Fulgence.  "  If  you  were  a  jour- 
nalist, you  would  no  more  think  of  us  than  the  opera  girl  in 
all  her  glory,  with  her  adorers  and  her  silk-lined  carriage, 
thinks  of  the  village  at  home  and  her  cows  and  her  sabots. 
You  could  never  resist  the  temptation  to  pen  a  witticism, 
though  it  should  bring  tears  to  a  friend's  eyes.  I  come 
across  journalists  in  theatre  lobbies ;  it  makes  me  shudder  to 
see  them.  Journalism  is  an  inferno,  a  bottomless  pit  of  in- 
iquity and  treachery  and  lies ;  no  one  can  traverse  it  unde- 
filed,  unless,  like  Dante,  he  is  protected  by  Virgil's  sacred 
laurel." 

But  the  more  the  set  of  friends  opposed  the  idea  of  jour- 
nalism, the  more  Lucien's  desire  to  know  its  perils  grew  and 
tempted  him.  He  began  to  debate  within  his  own  mind ; 
was  it  not  ridiculous  to  allow  want  to  find  him  a  second  time 
defenseless?  He  bethought  him  of  the  failure  of  his  attempts 
to  dispose  of  his  first  novel,  and  felt  but  little  tempted  to 


88  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

begin  a  second.  How,  beside,  was  he  to  live  while  he  was 
writing  another  romance  ?  One  month  of  privation  had  ex- 
hausted his  stock  of  patience.  Why  should  he  not  do  nobly 
that  which  journalists  did  ignobly  and  without  principle? 
His  friends  insulted  him  with  their  doubts ;  he  would  con- 
vince them  of  his  strength  of  mind.  Some  day,  perhaps,  he 
would  be  of  use  to  them ;  he  would  be  the  herald  of  their 
fame ! 

"  And  what  sort  of  a  friendship  is  it  which  recoils  from 
complicity?  "  demanded  he  one  evening  of  Michel  Chrestien ; 
Lucien  and  Leon  Giraud  were  walking  home  with  their  friend. 

"  We  shrink  from  nothing,"  Michel  Christien  made  reply. 
"  If  you  were  so  unlucky  as  to  kill  your  mistress,  I  would  help 
you  to  hide  your  crime  and  could  still  respect  you ;  but  if 
you  were  to  turn  spy,  I  should  shun  you  with  abhorrence,  for 
a  spy  is  systematically  shameless  and  base.  There  you  have 
journalism  summed  up  in  a  sentence.  Friendship  can  pardon 
error  and  the  hasty  impulse  of  passion  ;  it  is  bound  to  be 
inexorable  when  a  man  deliberately  traffics  in  his  own  soul, 
and  intellect,  and  opinions." 

"  Why  can  I  not  turn  journalist  to  sell  my  volume  of  poetry 
and  the  novel,  and  then  give  up  at  once  ?  ' ' 

"Machiavelli  might  do  so,  but  not  Lucien  de  Rubempr6," 
said  L6on  Giraud. 

"Very  well,"  exclaimed  Lucien  ;  "I  will  show  you  that  I 
can  do  as  much  as  Machiavelli." 

"  Oh !"  cried  Michel,  grasping  Leon's  hand,  "you  have 
done  it,  L6on.  Lucien,"  he  continued,  "you  have  three 
hundred  francs  in  hand ;  you  can  live  comfortably  for  three 
months;  very  well,  then,  work  hard  and  write  another  ro- 
mance. D' Arthez  and  Fulgence  will  help  you  with  the  plot ; 
you  will  improve,  you  will  be  a  novelist.  And  I,  meanwhile, 
will  enter  one  of  these  lupanars  of  thought ;  for  three  months 
I  will  be  a  journalist.  I  will  sell  your  books  to  some  book- 
seller or  other  by  attacking  his  publications ;  I  will  write  the 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  89 

articles  myself;  I  will  get  others  for  you.  We  will  organize 
a  success ;  you  shall  be  a  great  man,  and  still  remain  our 
Lucien." 

"  You  must  despise  me  very  much,  if  you  think  that  I 
should  perish  while  you  escape,"  said  the  poet. 

"  O  Lord,  forgive  him ;  it  is  a  child  !  "  cried  Michel  Chres- 
tien. 

When  Lucien's  intellect  had  been  stimulated  by  the  even- 
ings spent  in  d'Arthez's  garret,  he  had  made  some  study  of 
the  jokes  and  articles  in  the  smaller  newspapers.  He  was  at 
least  the  equal,  he  felt,  of  the  wittiest  contributors  ;  in  private 
he  tried  some  mental  gymnastics  of  the  kind,  and  went  out 
one  morning  with  the  triumphant  idea  of  finding  some  colonel 
of  such  light  skirmishers  of  the  press  and  enlisting  in  their 
ranks.  He  dressed  in  his  best  and  crossed  the  bridges,  think- 
ing as  he  went  that  authors,  journalists,  and  men  of  letters, 
his  future  comrades,  in  short,  would  show  him  rather  more 
kindness  and  disinterestedness  than  the  two  species  of  book- 
sellers who  had  so  dashed  his  hopes.  He  should  meet  with  fel- 
low-feeling and  something  of  the  kindly  and  grateful  affection 
which  he  found  in  the  cenacle  of  the  Rue  des  Quatre- Vents. 
Tormented  by  emotion,  consequent  upon  the  presentiments  to 
which  men  of  imagination  cling  so  fondly,  half-believing, 
half-battling  with  their  belief  in  them,  he  arrived  in  the  Rue 
Saint-Fiacre  off  the  Boulevard  Montmartre.  Before  a  house, 
occupied  by  the  offices  of  a  small  newspaper,  he  stopped,  and 
at  the  sight  of  it  his  heart  began  to  throb  as  heavily  as  the 
pulses  of  a  youth  upon  the  threshold  of  some  evil  haunt. 

Nevertheless,  upstairs  he  went,  and  found  the  offices  in  the 
low  entresol  ht\.vfeex\  the  ground  floor  and  the  first  story.  The 
first  room  was  divided  down  the  middle  by  a  partition,  the 
lower  half  of  solid  wood,  the  upper  lattice  work  to  the  ceiling. 
In  this  apartment  Lucien  discovered  a  one-armed  pensioner 
supporting  several  reams  of  paper  on  his  head  with  his  remain- 


90  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

ing  hand,  while  between  his  teeth  he  held  the  passbook  which 
the  Internal  Revenue  Department  requires  every  newspaper  to 
produce  with  each  issue.  This  ill-favored  individual,  owner 
of  a  yellow  countenance  covered  with  red  excrescences,  to 
which  he  owed  his  nickname  of  "  Coloquinte,"  indicated  a 
personage  behind  the  lattice  as  the  Cerberus  of  the  paper. 
This  latter  was  an  elderly  officer  with  a  medal  on  his  chest 
and  a  black  silk  skull-cap  on  his  head ;  his  nose  was  almost 
hidden  by  a  pair  of  grizzled  mustaches,  and  his  person  was 
hidden  as  completely  in  an  ample  blue  overcoat  as  the  body 
of  the  turtle  in  its  carapace. 

"  From  what  date  do  you  wish  your  subscription  to  com- 
mence, sir?"  inquired  the  Emperor's  officer. 

"I  did  not  come  about  a  subscription,"  returned  Lucien. 
Looking  about  him,  he  saw  a  placard  fastened  on  a  door, 
corresponding  to  the  one  by  which  he  had  entered,  and  read 
the  words — Editor's  Office,  and  below,  in  smaller  letters, 
N'o  admittance  except  on  business. 

"A  complaint,  I  expect?"  replied  the  veteran.  "Ah! 
yes;  we  have  been  hard  on  Mariette.  What  would  you  have? 
I  don't  know  the  why  and  wherefore  of  it  yet.  But  if  you 
want  satisfaction,  I  am  ready  for  you,"  he  added,  glancing  at 
a  collection  of  small  arms  and  foils  stacked  in  a  corner,  the 
armory  of  the  modern  warrior. 

"  That  was  still  further  from  my  intention,  sir.  I  have 
come  to  speak  to  the  editor." 

"  Nobody  is  ever  here  before  four  o'clock." 

"  Look  you  here,  Giroudeau,  old  chap,"  remarked  a  voice, 
"  I  make  it  eleven  columns ;  eleven  columns  at  five  francs 
apiece  is  fifty-five  francs,  and  I  have  only  been  paid  forty ;  so 
you  owe  me  another  fifteen  francs,  as  I  have  been  telling  you." 

These  words  proceeded  from  a  little  weasel-face,  pallid  and 
semi-transparent  as  the  half-boiled  white  of  an  egg;  two  slits 
of  eyes  looked  out  of  it,  mild  blue  in  tint,  but  appallingly 
malignant  in   expression  ;    and   the   owner,   an    insignificant 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  91 

young  man,  was  completely  hidden  by  the  veteran's  opaque 
person.  It  was  a  blood-curdling  voice,  a  sound  between  the 
mewing  of  a  cat  and  the  wheezy  chokings  of  a  hyena. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  little  militiaman,"  retorted  he  of  the  medal, 
"  but  you  are  counting  the  headings  and  white  lines.  I  have 
Finot's  instructions  to  add  up  the  totals  of  the  lines,  and  to 
divide  them  by  the  proper  number  for  each  column ;  and  after 
I  performed  that  concentrating  operation  on  your  copy,  there 
were  three  columns  less." 

"  He  doesn't  pay  for  the  blanks,  the  Jew  !  He  reckons 
them  in  though  when  he  sends  up  the  total  of  his  work  to  his 
partner,  and  he  gets  paid  for  them  too.  I  will  go  and  see 
Etienne  Lousteau,  Vernou " 

"  I  cannot  go  beyond  my  orders,  my  boy,"  said  the  veteran. 
"  What  !  do  you  cry  out  against  your  foster-mother  for  a  mat- 
ter of  fifteen  francs  ?  you  that  turn  out  an  article  as  easily 
as  I  smoke  a  cigar.  Fifteen  francs  !  why,  you  will  give  a 
bowl  of  punch  the  less  to  your  friends  or  win  an  extra  game 
of  billiards,  and  there's  an  end  of  it !  " 

"  Finot's  savings  will  cost  him  very  dear,"  said  the  con- 
tributor as  he  took  his  departure. 

"  Now,  would  not  anybody  think  that  he  was  Rousseau  and 
Voltaire  rolled  in  one?  "  the  cashier  remarked  to  himself  as 
he  glanced  at  Lucien. 

"  I  will  come  in  again  at  four,  sir,"  said  Lucien. 

While  the  argument  proceeded,  Lucien  had  been  looking 
about  him.  He  saw  upon  the  walls  the  portraits  of  Benjamin 
Constant,  General  Foy,  and  the  seventeen  illustrious  orators 
of  the  Left,  interspersed  with  caricatures  at  the  expense  of  the 
government ;  but  he  looked  more  particularly  at  the  door  of 
the  sanctuary  where,  no  doubt,  the  paper  was  elaborated,  the 
witty  paper  that  amused  him  daily,  and  enjoyed  the  privilege 
of  ridiculing  kings  and  the  most  portentous  events,  of  calling 
anything  and  everything  in  question  with  a  jest.  Then  he 
sauntered  along  the  boulevards.     It  was  an   entirely  novel 


92  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

amusement ;  and  so  agreeable  did  he  find  it,  that,  looking  at 
the  turret  clocks,  he  saw  the  hour  hands  were  pointing  to  four, 
and  only  then  remembered  that  he  had  not  breakfasted. 

He  went  at  once  in  the  direction  of  the  Rue  Saint-Fiacre, 
climbed  the  stair,  and  opened  the  door. 

The  veteran  officer  was  absent ;  but  the  old  pensioner,  sit- 
ting on  a  pile  of  stamped  papers,  was  munching  a  crust  and 
acting  as  sentinel  resignedly.  Coloquinte  was  as  much  ac- 
customed to  his  work  in  the  office  as  to  the  fatigue  duty  of 
former  days,  understanding  as  much  or  as  little  about  it  as 
of  the  why  and  wherefore  of  forced  marches  made  by  the 
Emperor's  orders.  Lucien  was  inspired  with  the  bold  idea 
of  deceiving  that  formidable  functionary.  He  settled  his  hat 
on  his  head,  and  walked  into  the  editor's  office  as  if  he  were 
quite  at  home. 

Looking  eagerly  about  him,  he  beheld  a  round  table  covered 
with  green  cloth,  and  half-a-dozen  cherry-wood  chairs,  newly 
reseated  with  straw.  The  colored  brick  floor  had  not  been 
waxed,  but  it  was  clean ;  so  clean  that  the  public,  evidently, 
seldom  entered  the  room.  There  was  a  mirror  above  the 
chimney-piece,  and  on  the  ledge  below,  amid  a  sprinkling  of 
visiting-cards,  stood  a  storekeeper's  clock,  smothered  with 
dust,  and  a  couple  of  candlesticks  with  tallow  dips  thrust  into 
their  sockets.  A  few  antique  newspapers  lay  on  the  table 
beside  an  inkstand  containing  some  black  lacquer-like  sub- 
stance, and  a  collection  of  quill  pens  twisted  into  stars. 
Sundry  dirty  scraps  of  paper,  covered  with  almost  undeci- 
pherable hieroglyphs,  proved  to  be  manuscript  articles  torn 
across  the  top  by  the  compositor  to  check  off  the  sheets  as 
they  were  set  up.  He  admired  a  few  rather  clever  caricatures, 
sketched  on  bits  of  brown  paper  by  somebody  who  evidently 
had  tried  to  kill  time  by  killing  something  else  to  keep  his 
hand  in. 

Other  works  of  art  were  pinned  to  the  cheap  sea-green  wall- 
paper.    These  consisted  of  nine  pen-and-ink  illustrations  for 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  93 

"La  Solitaire."  The  work  had  attained  to  such  an  unheard- 
of  European  popularity  that  journalists  evidently  were  tired 
of  it.  "  The  Solitary  makes  its  first  appearance  in  the  prov- 
inces ;  sensation  among  the  women.  The  Solitary  perused  at 
a  chateau.  Effect  of  the  Solitary  on  domestic  animals.  The 
Solitary  explained  to  savage  tribes,  with  the  most  brilliant 
results.  The  Solitary  translated  into  Chinese  and  presented 
by  the  author  to  the  Emperor  at  Pekin.  The  Mont  Sauvage, 
Rape  of  Elodie."  (Lucien  thought  this  caricature  very  shock- 
ing, but  he  could  not  help  laughing  at  it.)  "The  Solitary 
under  a  canopy  conducted  in  triumphal  procession  by  the 
newspapers.  The  Solitary  breaks  the  press  to  splinters  and 
wounds  the  printers.  Read  backward,  the  superior  beauties 
of  the  Solitary  produce  a  sensation  at  the  Academic."  On  a 
newspaper-wrapper  Lucien  noticed  a  sketch  of  a  contributor 
holding  out  his  hat,  and  beneath  it  the  words,  "  Finot  !  my 
hundred  francs,"  and  a  name,  since  grown  more  notorious 
than  famous. 

Between  the  window  and  the  chimney-piece  stood  a  writing- 
table,  a  mahogany  armchair,  and  a  waste-paper  basket  on  a 
strip  of  hearth-rug ;  the  dust  lay  thick  on  all  these  objects. 
There  were  short  curtains  in  the  windows.  About  a  score  of 
new  books  lay  on  the  writing-table,  deposited  there  appar- 
ently during  the  day,  together  with  prints,  music,  snuff-boxes 
of  the  "Charter"  pattern,  a  copy  of  the  ninth  edition  of 
"Le  Solitaire"  (the  great  joke  of  the  moment),  and  some 
ten  unopened  letters. 

Lucien  had  taken  stock  of  this  strange  furniture  and  made 
reflections  of  the  most  exhaustive  kind  upon  it,  when,  the 
clock  striking  five,  he  returned  to  question  the  pensioner. 
Coloquinte  had  finished  his  crust  and  was  waiting  with  the 
patience  of  a  commissionaire  for  the  man  of  medals,  who, 
perhaps,  was  taking  an  airing  on  the  boulevard. ' 

At  this  conjuncture  the  rustle  of  a  dress  sounded  on  the 
stair,  and  the  light,  unmistakable  footstep  of  a  woman  on  the 


94  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

threshold.  The  new-comer  was  passably  pretty.  She  ad- 
dressed herself  to  Lucien, 

"Sir,"  she  said,  "I  know  why  you  cry  up  Mademoiselle 
Virginie's  hats  so  much ;  and  I  have  come  to  put  down  my 
name  for  a  year's  subscription,  in  the  first  place ;  but  tell  me 
your  conditions " 

"  I  am  not  connected  with  the  paper,  madame." 

''Oh!" 

"A  subscription  dating  from  October?"  inquired  the  pen- 
sioner. 

"  What  does  the  lady  want  to  know?  "  asked  the  veteran, 
reappearing  on  the  scene. 

The  fair  milliner  and  the  retired  military  man  were  soon 
deep  in  converse  ;  and  wlien  Lucien,  beginning  to  lose  pa- 
tience, came  back  to  the  first  room,  he  heard  the  conclusion 
of  the  matter. 

"Why,  I  shall  be  delighted,  quite  delighted,  sir.  Made- 
moiselle Florentine  can  come  to  my  shop  and  choose  any- 
thing she  likes.  Ribbons  are  in  my  department.  So  it  is  all 
quite  settled.  You  will  say  no  more  about  Virginie,  a  botcher 
that  cannot  design  a  new  shape,  while  I  have  ideas  of  my 
own,  I  have." 

Lucien  heard  a  sound  as  of  coins  dropping  into  a  cash- 
box,  and  the  veteran  began  to  make  up  his  books  for  the 
day. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  here  for  an  hour,  sir,"  Lucien  began, 
looking  not  a  little  annoyed. 

**  And  '  they '  have  not  come  yet !  "  exclaimed  Napoleon's 
veteran,  civilly  feigning  concern.  "I  am  not  surprised  at 
that.  It  is  some  time  since  I  have  seen  '  them '  here.  It 
is  the  middle  of  the  month,  you  see.  Those  fine  fellows 
only  turn  up  on  pay-days — the  29th  or  the  30th." 

"And  Mohsieur  Finot?  "  asked  Lucien,  having  caught  the 
editor's  name. 

**  He  is  in  the  Rue  Feydeau,  that's  where  he  lives.     Colo- 


.     A^PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  95 

quinte,  old  chap,  just  take  him  everything  that  has  come  in 
to-day  when  you  go  with  the  paper  to  the  printers." 

"Where  is  the  newspaper  put  together?"  Lucien  said 
half  to  himself. 

"The  newspaper?"  repeated  the  officer,  as  he  received 
the  rest  of  the  stamp  money  from  Coloquinte,  "  the  news- 
paper ? — broum  !  broum  !  (Mind  you  are  round  at  the  prin- 
ters by  six  o'clock  to-morrow,  old  chap,  to  send  off  the 
porters.)  The  newspaper,  sir,  is  written  in  the  street,  at  the 
writers'  houses,  in  the  printing-office  between  eleven  and 
twelve  o'clock  at  night.  In  the  Emperor's  time,  sir,  these 
shops  for  spoiled  paper  were  not  known.  Oh !  he  would 
have  cleared  them  out  with  four  men  and  a  corporal ;  they 
would  not  have  come  over  him  with  their  talk.  But  that  is 
enough  of  prattling.  If  my  nephew  finds  it  worth  his  while, 
and  so  long  as  they  write  for  the  son  of  the  Other  (broum ! 

broum  !) after  all,  there  is  no  harm  in  that.     Ah  !  by  the 

way,  subscribers  don't  seem  to  me  to  be  advancing  in  serried 
columns;  I  shall  leave  my  post." 

"You  seem  to  know  all  about  the  newspaper,  sir,"  Lucien 
began. 

"  From  a  business  point  of  view,  broum  !  broum  !"  coughed 
the  soldier,  clearing  his  throat.  "From  three  to  five  francs 
per  column,  according  to  ability.  Fifty  lines  to  a  column, 
forty  letters  to  a  line  ;  no  blanks  ;  there  you  are  !  As  for  the 
staff,  they  are  queer  fish,  little  youngsters  whom  I  wouldn't 
take  on  for  the  commissariat ;  and,  because  they  make  fly- 
tracks  on  sheets  of  white  paper,  they  look  down,  forsooth, 
on  an  old  captain  of  dragoons  of  the  Guard,  that  retired  with 
a  major's  rank  after  entering  every  European  capital  with 
Napoleon." 

The  soldier  of  Napoleon  brushed  his  coat  and  made  as  if 
he  would  go  out,  but  Lucien,  swept  to  the  door,  had  courage 
enough  to  make  a  stand. 

"I  came  to  be  a  contributor  of  the  paper,"  he  said.     "I 


96  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

am  full  of  respect,  I  vow  and  declare,  for  a  captain  of  the 
Imperial  Guard,  those  men  of  bronze " 

**  Well  said,  my  little  civilian,  there  are  several  kinds  of 
contributors;  which  kind  do  you  wish  to  be?"  replied  the 
trooper,  bearing  down  on  Lucien,  and  descending  the  stairs. 
At  the  foot  of  the  flight  he  stopped,  but  it  was  only  to  light 
a  cigar  at  the  porter's  box. 

"  If  any  subscribers  come,  you  see  them  and  take  note  of 
them,  Mother  Chollet.  Simply  subscribers,  never  know  any- 
thing but  subscribers,"  he  added,  seeing  that  Lucien  followed 
him.  "  Finot  is  my  nephew;  he  is  the  only  one  of  my  fam- 
ily that  has  done  anything  to  relieve  me  in  my  position.  So 
when  anybody  comes  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  Finot,  he  finds 
old  Giroudeau,  captain  of  the  dragoons  of  the  Guard,  that 
set  out  as  a  private  in  a  cavalry  regiment  in  the  army  of  the 
Sambre-et-Meuse,  and  was  fencing-master  for  five  years  to 
the  First  Hussars,  Army  of  Italy !  One,  two,  and  the 
man  that  had  any  complaints  to  make  would  be  turned 
off  into  the  dark,"  he  added,  making  a  lunge.  "Now 
writers,  my  boy,  are  in  different  corps;  there  is  the  writer 
who  writes  and  draws  his  pay ;  there  is  the  writer  who  writes 
and  gets  nothing  (a  volunteer  we  call  him);  and,  lastly,  there 
is  the  writer  who  writes  nothing,  and  he  is  by  no  means  the 
stupidest,  for  he  makes  no  mistakes ;  he  gives  himself  out  for 
a  literary  man,  he  is  on  the  paper,  he  treats  us  to  dinners,  he 
loafs  about  the  theatres,  he  keeps  an  actress,  he  is  very  well 
off.     What  do  you  mean  to  be  ?  " 

"  The  man  that  does  good  work  and  gets  good  pay." 

"  You  are  like  the  recruits ;  they  all  want  to  be  marshals  of 
France.  Take  old  Giroudeau's  word  for  it,  and  turn  right 
about,  in  double-quick  time,  and  go  and  pick  up  nails  in  the 
gutter  like  that  good  fellow  yonder ;  you  can  tell  by  the  look 
of  him  that  he  has  been  in  the  army.  Isn't  it  a  shame  that 
an  old  soldier  who  has  walked  into  the  jaws  of  death  hun- 
dreds of  times  should  be  picking  up  old  iron  in  the  streets  of 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  ^fl 

Paris?  Ah  !  God  A'mighty  !  'twas  a  shabby  trick  to  desert 
the  Emperor.  Well,  my  boy,  the  individual  you  saw  this 
morning  has  made  his  forty  francs  a  month.  Are  you  going 
to  do  better  ?  And,  according  to  Finot,  he  the  cleverest  man 
on  the  staff." 

"  When  you  enlisted  in  the  Sambre-et-Meuse,  did  they  talk 
about  danger  ?  " 

"Rather." 

"Very  well?" 

"Very  well.  Go  and  see  my  nephew  Finot,  a  good  fellow, 
as  good  a  fellow  as  you  will  find,  if  you  can  find  him  that  is, 
for  he  is  like  a  fish,  always  on  the  move.  In  his  way  of  busi- 
ness, there  is  no  writing,  you  see,  it  is  setting  others  to  write. 
That  sort  like  gallivanting  about  with  actresses  better  than 
scribbling  on  sheets  of  paper,  it  seems.  Oh  !  they  are  queer 
customers,  they  are.  Hope  I  may  have  the  honor  of  seeing 
you  again." 

With  that  the  cashier  raised  his  formidable  loaded  cane,  one 
of  the  defenders  of  Germanicus,  and  walked  off,  leaving 
Lucien  in  the  street,  as  much  bewildered  by  this  picture  of 
the  newspaper  world  as  he  had  formerly  been  by  the  practical 
aspects  of  literature  at  Messrs.  Vidal  and  Porchon's  establish- 
ment. 

Ten  several  times  did  Lucien  repair  to  the  Rue  Feydeau  in 
search  of  Andoche  Finot,  and  ten  times  he  failed  to  find  that 
gentleman.  He  went  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  Finot 
had  not  come  in.  At  noon,  Finot  had  gone  out ;  he  was 
breakfasting  at  such  and  such  a  caf6.  At  the  cafe,  in  answer 
to  inquiries  of  the  waitress,  made  after  surmounting  unspeak- 
able repugnance,  Lucien  heard  that  Finot  had  just  left  the 
place.  Lucien,  at  length  tired  out,  began  to  regard  Finot  as 
a  mythical  and  fabulous  character ;  it  appeared  simpler  to 
waylay  Etienne  Lousteau  at  Flicoteaux's.  That  youthful 
journalist  would,  doubtless,  explain  the  mysteries  that  en- 
veloped the  paper  for  which  he  wrote. 
7 


98  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

Since  the  day,  a  hundred  times  blessed,  when  Lucien  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Daniel  d'Arthez,  he  had  taken  another 
seat  at  Flicoteaux's.  The  two  friends  dined  side  by  side, 
talking  in  lowered  voices  of  the  higher  literature,  of  suggested 
subjects,  and  ways  of  presenting,  opening  up,  and  developing 
them.  At  the  present  time  Daniel  d'Arthez  was  correcting 
the  manuscript  of  "  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX."  He  recon- 
structed whole  chapters,  and  wrote  the  fine  passages  found 
therein,  as  well  as  the  magnificent  preface,  which  is,  perhaps, 
the  best  thing  in  the  book,  and  throws  so  much  light  on  the 
work  of  the  young  school  of  literature.  One  day  it  so  hap- 
pened that  Daniel  had  been  waiting  for  Lucien,  who  now  sat 
with  his  friend's  hand  in  his  own,  when  he  saw  Etienne  Lous- 
teau  turn  the  door-handle.  Lucien  instantly  dropped  Daniel's 
hand,  and  told  the  waiter  that  he  would  dine  at  his  old  place 
by  the  counter.  D'Arthez  gave  Lucien  a  glance  of  divine 
kindness,  in  which  reproach  was  wrapped  in  forgiveness.  The 
glance  cut  the  poet  to  the  quick ;  he  took  Daniel's  hand  and 
grasped  it  anew. 

"It  is  an  important  question  of  business  for  me;  I  will  tell 
you  about  it  afterward,"  said  he. 

Lucien  was  in  his  old  place  by  the  time  that  Lousteau 
reached  the  table  as  the  first  comer,  he  greeted  his  acquaint- 
ance; they  soon  struck  up  a  conversation,  which  grew  so 
lively  that  Lucien  went  off  in  search  of  the  manuscript  of  the 
"Marguerites,"  while  Lousteau  finished  his  dinner.  He  had 
obtained  leave  to  lay  his  sonnets  before  the  journalist,  and 
mistook  the  civility  of  the  latter  for  willingness  to  find  him  a 
publisher  or  a  place  on  the  paper.  When  Lucien  came  hurry- 
ing back  again  he  saw  d'Arthez  resting  an  elbow  on  the  table 
in  a  comer  of  the  restaurant,  and  knew  that  his  friend  was 
watching  him  with  melancholy  eyes,  but  he  would  not  see 
d'Arthez  just  then ;  he  felt  the  sharp  fangs  of  poverty,  the 
goading  of  ambition,  and  followed  Lousteau. 

In  the  late  afternoon  the  journalist  and  the  neophyte  went 


A  SfiOVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  99 

to  the  Luxembourg,  and  sat  down  under  the  trees  in  that  part 
of  the  gardens  which  lies  between  the  broad  Avenue  de  I'Ob- 
servatoire  and  the  Rue  de  I'Ouest.  The  Rue  de  I'Ouest  at 
that  time  was  a  long  morass,  bounded  by  planks  and  market- 
gardens  ;  the  houses  were  all  at  the  end  nearest  the  Rue  de 
Vaugirard  ;  and  the  walk  through  the  gardens  was  so  little  fre- 
quented that,  at  the  hour  when  Paris  dines,  two  lovers  might 
fall  out  and  exchange  the  earnest  of  reconciliation  without 
fear  of  intruders.  The  only  possible  spoil-sport  was  the  pen- 
sioner on  duty  at  the  little  iron  gate  on  the  Rue  de  I'Ouest, 
if  that  gray-headed  veteran  should  take  it  into  his  head  to 
lengthen  his  monotonous  beat.  There,  on  a  bench  btfneath 
the  lime  trees,  Etienne  Lousteau  sat  and  listened  to  sample 
sonnets  from  the  *'  Marguerites." 

Etienne  Lousteau,  after  two  years'  apprenticeship,  was  on 
the  staff  of  a  newspaper ;  he  had  his  foot  in  the  stirrup ;  he 
reckoned  some  of  the  celebrities  of  the  day  among  his  friends ; 
altogether,  he  was  an  imposing  personage  in  Lucien's  eyes. 
Wherefore,  while  Lucien  untied  the  string  about  the  "Mar- 
guerites," he  judged  it  necessary  to  make  some  sort  of  preface. 

**  The  sonnet,  monsieur,"  said  he,  "  is  one  of  the  most  diffi- 
cult forms  of  poetry.  It  has  fallen  almost  entirely  into  disuse. 
No  Frenchman  can  hope  to  rival  Petrarch ;  for  the  language 
in  which  the  Italian  wrote,  being  so  infinitely  more  pliant 
than  French,  lends  itself  to  play  of  thought  which  our  posi- 
tivism (pardon  the  use  of  the  expression)  rejects.  So  it 
seemed  to  me  that  a  volume  of  sonnets  would  be  something 
quite  new.  Victor  Hugo  has  appropriated  the  ode,  Canalis 
writes  lighter  verse,  Beranger  has  monopolized  songs,  Casimir 
Delavigne  has  taken  tragedy,  and  Laraartine  the  poetry  of 
meditation." 

"  Are  you  a  *  Classic '  or  a  *  Romantic? '  "  asked  Lousteau. 

Lucien's  astonishment  betrayed  such  complete  ignorance 
of  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  republic  of  letters  that  Lousteau 
thought  it  necessary  to  enlighten  him. 


100  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

"You  have  come  up  in  the  middle  of  a  pitched  battle,  my 
dear  fellow ;  you  must  make  your  decision  at  once.  Litera- 
ture is  divided,  in  the  first  place,  into  several  zones,  but  our 
great  men  are  ranged  in  two  hostile  camps.  The  royalists  are 
'Romantics,'  the  liberals  are  'Classics.'  The  divergence  of 
taste  in  matters  literary  and  divergence  of  political  opinion 
coincide ;  and  the  result  is  a  war  with  weapons  of  every  sort, 
double-edged  witticisms,  subtle  calumnies  and  nicknames  a 
outrance  (to  the  extreme),  between  the  rising  and  the  waning 
glory,  and  ink  is  shed  in  torrents.  The  odd  part  of  it  is  that 
the  royalist-romantics  are  all  for  liberty  in  literature  and  for 
repealing  laws  and  conventions  ;  while  the  liberal-classics  are 
for  maintaining  the  unities,  the  Alexandrine,  and  the  classical 
theme.  So  opinions  in  politics  on  either  side  are  directly  at 
variance  with  literary  taste.  If  you  are  eclectic,  you  will 
have  no  one  for  you.     Which  side  do  you  take?" 

*'  Which  is  the  winning  side  ?  " 

"  The  liberal  newspapers  have  far  more  subscribers  than  the 
royalist  and  ministerial  journals ;  still,  though  Canalis  is  for 
Church  and  King,  and  patronized  by  the  court  and  the  clergy, 
he  reaches  other  readers.  Pshaw !  sonnets  date  back  to  an 
epoch  before  Boileau's  time,"  said  Etienne,  seeing  Lucien's 
dismay  at  the  prospect  of  choosing  between  two  banners. 
"  Be  a  romantic.  The  romantics  are  young  men  and  the 
classics  are  pedants;  the  romantics  will  gain  the  day." 

The  word  "pedant"  was  the  latest  epithet  taken  up  by 
romantic  journalism  to  heap  confusion  on  the  classical  faction. 

Lucien  began  to  read,  choosing  first  of  all  the  title-sonnets : 


EASTER  DAISIES, 

The  daisies  in  the  meadows,  not  in  vain, 
In  red  and  white  and  gold  before  our  eyes. 
Have  written  an  idyll  for  man's  sympathies. 

And  set  his  heart's  desire  in  language  plain. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  101 

«• 
Gold  stamens  set  in  silver  filigrane 

Reveal  the  treasures  which  we  idolize ; 

And  all  the  cost  of  struggle  for  the  prize 
Is  symboled  by  a  secret  blood-red  stain. 

Was  it  because  your  petals  once  uncurled 

When  Jesus  rose  upon  a  fairer  world, 

And  from  wings  shaken  for  a  heav'nward  flight 

Shed  grace,  that  still  as  autumn  reappears 
You  bloom  again  to  tell  of  dead  delight, 

To  bring  us  back  the  flower  of  twenty  years  ? 

Lucien  felt  piqued  by  Lousteau's  complete  indifference 
during  the  reading  of  the  sonnet ;  he  was  unfamiliar  as  yet 
with  the  disconcerting  impassibility  of  the  professional  critic, 
wearied  by  much  reading  of  poetry,  prose,  and  plays.  Lucien 
was  accustomed  to  applause.  He  choked  down  his  disap- 
pointment and  read  another,  a  favorite  with  Mme.  de  Barge- 
ton  and  with  some  of  his  friends  in  the  Rue  des  Quatre-Vents. 

"This  one,  perhaps,  will  draw  a  word  from  him,"  he 
thought : 

THE  MARGUERITE. 

I  am  the  Marguerite,  fair  and  tall  I  grew 
In  velvet  meadows,  'mid  the  flowers  a  star. 
They  sought  me  for  my  beauty  near  and  far ; 

My  dawn,  I  thought,  should  be  for  ever  new. 

But  now  an  all  unwished-for  gift  I  rue, 

A  fatal  ray  of  knowledge  shed  to  mar 

My  radiant  star-crown  grown  oracular, 
For  I  must  speak  and  give  an  answer  true. 

An  end  of  silence  and  of  quiet  days.  . 

The  Lover  with  two  words  my  counsel  prays ; 
And  when  my  secret  from  my  heart  is  reft, 

When  all  my  silver  petals  scattered  lie, 
I  am  the  only  flower  neglected  left. 

Cast  down  and  trodden  under  foot  to  die. 


102  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

At  the  end  the  poet  looked  up  at  his  Aristarchus.  Etienne 
Lousteau  was  gazing  at  the  trees  in  the  Pepinidre. 

"Well?"  asked  Lucien. 

**  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  go  on  !  I  am  listening,  to  you, 
am  I  not?     That  fact  in  itself  is  as  good  as  praise  in  Paris." 

"Have  you  had  enough?"  Lucien  inquired. 

**  Go  on,"  the  other  answered,  abruptly  enough. 

Lucien  proceeded  to  read  the  following  sonnet,  but  his 
heart  was  dead  within  him ;  Lousteau's  inscrutable  composure 
froze  his  utterance.  If  he  had  come  a  little  further  upon  the 
road,  he  would  have  known  that,  between  writer  and  writer, 
silence  or  abrupt  speech,  under  such  circumstances,  is  a  be- 
trayal of  jealousy,  and  outspoken  admiration  means  a  sense  of 
relief  over  the  discovery  that  the  work  is  not  above  the 
average,  after  all. 

THE  CAMELLIA. 

In  Nature's  book,  if  rightly  understood, 

The  rose  means  love,  and  red  for  beauty  glows; 
A  pure,  sweet  spirit  in  the  violet  blows. 

And  bright  the  lily  gleams  in  lowlihood. 

But  this  strange  bloom,  by  sun  and  wind  unwooed. 
Seems  to  expand  and  blossom  'mid  the  snows, 
A  lily  sceptreless,  a  scentless  rose, 

For  dainty  listlessness  of  maidenhood. 

Yet  at  the  opera-house  the  petals  trace 

For  modesty  a  fitting  aureole  ; 
An  alabaster  wreath  to  lay,  methought. 
In  dusky  hair  o'er  some  fair  woman's  face 

Which  kindles  ev'n  such  love  within  the  soul 
As  sculptured  marble  forms  by  Phidias  wrought. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  poor  sonnets  ?  "  Lucien  asked, 
coming  straight  to  the  point. 
"  Do  you  want  the  truth  ?  " 


A    PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  103 

"  I  am  young  enough  to  like  the  truth  and  so  anxious  to 
succeed  that  I  can  hear  it  without  taking  offense,  but  not 
without  despair,"  replied  Lucien. 

"  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  the  first  sonnet,  from  its  involved 
style,  was  evidently  written  at  Angoulgme ;  it  gave  you  so 
much  trouble,  no  doubt,  that  you  cannot  give  it  up.  The 
second  and  third  smack  of  Paris  already;  but  read  us  one 
more  sonnet,"  he  added,  with  a  gesture  that  seemed  charming 
to  the  provincial. 

Encouraged  by  the  request,  Lucien  read  with  more  confi- 
dence, choosing  a  sonnet  which  d'Arthez  and  Bridau  liked 
best,  perhaps  on  account  of  its  color. 

THE   TULIP. 

I  am  the  Tulip  from  Batavia's  shore ; 
The  thrifty  Fleming  for  my  beauty  rare 
Pays  a  king's  ransom,  when  that  I  am  fair, 

And  tall,  and  straight,  and  pure  my  petal's  core. 

And,  like  some  Yolande  of  the  days  of  yore. 
My  long  and  amply  folded  skirts  I  wear, 
O'er-painted  with  the  blazon  that  I  bear, 

— Gules,  a  fess  azure  ;  purpure,  fretty,  or. 

The  fingers  of  the  Gardener  divine 

Have  woven  for  me  my  vesture  fair  and  fine. 

Of  threads  of  sunlight  and  of  purple  stain ; 
No  flower  so  glorious  in  the  garden  bed, 
But  Nature,  woe  is  me,  no  fragrance  shed 

Within  my  cup  of  Orient  porcelain. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Lucien  after  a  pause,  immeasurably  long, 
as  it  seemed  to  him. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  Etienne  said,  gravely  surveying  the  tips 
of  Lucien's  boots  (he  had  brought  the  pair  from  Angoul&me, 
and  was  wearing  them  out).  **  My  dear  fellow,  I  strongly 
recommend  you  to  put  your  ink  on  your  boots  to  save  black- 


104  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

ing,  and  to  take  your  pens  for  toothpicks,  so  that  when  you 
come  away  from  Flicoteaux's  you  can  swagger  along  this  pic- 
turesque alley  looking  as  if  you  had  dined.  Get  a  situation 
of  any  sort  or  description.  Run  errands  for  a  bailiff  if  you 
have  a  heart,  be  a  shopman  if  your  back  is  strong  enough, 
enlist  if  you  happen  to  have  a  taste  for  military  music.  You 
have  the  stuff  of  three  poets  in  you  ;  but  before  you  can  reach 
your  public,  you  will  have  time  to  die  of  starvation  six  times 
over,  if  you  intend  to  live  on  the  proceeds  of  your  poetry, 
that  is.  And,  from  your  too  unsophisticated  discourse,  it 
would  seem  to  be  your  intention  to  coin  money  out  of  your 
inkstand. 

"  I  say  nothing  as  to  your  verses ;  they  are  a  good  deal 
better  than  all  the  poetical  wares  that  are  cumbering  the 
ground  in  booksellers'  backstores  just  now.  Elegant  '  night- 
ingales '  of  that  sort  cost  a  little  more  than  the  others,  be- 
cause they  are  printed  on  hand-made  paper,  but  they  nearly 
all  of  them  come  down  at  last  to  the  banks  of  the  Seine.  You 
may  study  their  range  of  notes  there  any  day  if  you  care  to 
make  an  instructive  pilgrimage  along  the  quais  from  old 
Jerome's  stall  by  the  Pont  Notre  Dame  to  the  Pont  Royal. 
You  will  find  them  all  there — all  the  '  Essays  in  Verse,'  the 
*  Inspirations,'  the  lofty  flights,  the  hymns,  and  songs,  and 
ballads,  and  odes  ;  all  the  nestfuls  hatched  during  the  last 
seven  years,  in  fact.  There  lie  their  muses,  thick  with  dust, 
bespattered  by  every  passing  cab,  at  the  mercy  of  every  pro- 
.  fane  hand  that  turns  them  over  to  look  at  the  vignette  on  the 
title-page. 

"  You  know  nobody ;  you  have  access  to  no  newspaper, 
so  your  *  Marguerites '  will  remain  demurely  folded  as  you 
hold  them  now.  They  will  never  open  out  to  the  sun  of  pub- 
licity in  fair  fields,  with  broad  margins  enameled  with  the 
florets  which  Dauriat  the  illustrious,  the  king  of  the  Wooden 
Galleries,  scatters  with  a  lavish  hand  for  poets  known  to  fame. 
I  came  to  Paris  as  you  came,  poor  boy,  with  a  plentiful  stock 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  1(^ 

of  illusions,  impelled  by  irrepressible  longings  for  glory — and 
I  found  the  realities  of  the  craft,  the  practical  difficulties  of 
the  trade,  the  hard  facts  of  poverty.  In  ray  enthusiasm  (it  is 
kept  well  under  control  now),  my  first  ebullition  of  youthful 
spirits,  I  did  not  see  the  social  machinery  at  work ;  so  I  had 
to  learn  to  see  it  by  bumping  against  the  wheels  and  bruising 
myself  against  the  shafts,  covering  myself  with  oil,  hearing 
the  clatter  of  fly-wheel  and  chains.  Now  you  are  about  to 
learn,  as  I  learned,  that  between  you  and  all  these  fair 
dreamed-of  things  lies  the  strife  of  men,  and  passions,  and 
necessities. 

**  Willy-nilly,  you  must  take  part  in  a  terrible  battle ;  book 
against  book,  man  against  man,  party  against  party;  make 
war  you  must,  and  that  systematically,  or  you  will  be  aban- 
doned by  your  own  party.  And  they  are  mean  contests ; 
struggles  which  leave  you  disenchanted,  and  wearied,  and  de- 
praved, and  all  in  pure  waste ;  for  it  often  happens  that  you 
put  forth  all  your  strength  to  win  laurels  for  a  man  whom  you 
despise,  and  maintain,  in  spite  of  yourself,  that  some  second- 
rate  writer  is  a  genius. 

"  There  is  a  world  behind  the  scenes  in  the  theatre  of  liter- 
ature. The  public  in  front  sees  unexpected  or  well-deserved 
success,  and  applauds ;  the  public  does  not  see  the  prepara- 
tions, ugly  as  they  always  are,  the  painted  supers,  the  claqueurs 
hired  to  applaud,  the  stage  carpenters,  and  all  that  lies  behind 
the  scenes.  You  are  still  among  the  audience.  Abdicate, 
there  is  still  time,  before  you  set  your  foot  on  the  lowest  step 
of  the  throne  for  which  so  many  ambitious  spirits  are  contend- 
ing, and  do  not  sell  your  honor,  as  I  do,  for  a  livelihood." 
Etienne's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  spoke. 

"Do  you  know  how  I  make  a  living?"  he  continued  pas- 
sionately. "  The  little  stock  of  money  they  gave  me  at  home 
was  soon  eaten  up.  A  piece  of  mine  was  accepted  at  the 
Theatre-Franijais  just  as  I  came  to  an  end  of  it.  At  the 
Th^atre-Frangais  the  influence  of  a  first  gentleman  of  the 


106  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

bedchamber,  or  of  a  prince  of  the  blood,  would  not  be 
enough  to  secure  a  turn  of  favor ;  the  actors  only  make  con- 
cessions to  those  who  threaten  their  self-love.  If  it  is  in  your 
power  to  spread  a  report  that  the  jeune  premier  (leading  juve- 
nile) has  the  asthma,  the  leading  lady  a  fistula  where  you 
please,  and  the  soubrette  has  foul  breath,  then  your  piece 
would  be  played  to-morrow.  I  do  not  know  whether,  in  two 
years'  time,  I  who  speak  to  you  now  shall  be  in  a  position  to 
exercise  such  power.  You  need  so  many  to  back  you.  And 
where  and  how  am  I  to  gain  my  bread  meanwhile  ? 

"I  tried  lots  of  things;  I  wrote  a  novel,  anonymously; 
old  Doguereau  gave  me  two  hundred  francs  for  it,  and  he  did 
not  make  very  much  out  of  it  himself.  Then  it  grew  plain 
to  me  that  journalism  alone  could  give  me  a  living.  The 
next  thing  was  to  find  my  way  into  those  shops.  I  will  not 
tell  you  all  the  advances  I  made,  nor  how  often  I  begged  in 
vain.  I  will  say  nothing  of  the  six  months  I  spent  as  extra 
hand  on  a  paper,  and  was  told  that  I  scared  subscribers  away, 
when  as  a  fact  I  attracted  them.  Pass  over  the  insults  I  put 
up  with.  At  this  moment  I  am  doing  the  plays  at  the  boule- 
vard theatres,  almost  gratis^  for  a  paper  belonging  to  Finot, 
that  stout  young  fellow  who  breakfasts  two  or  three  times  a 
month,  even  now,  at  the  Cafe  Voltaire  (but  you  don't  go 
there).  I  live  by  selling  tickets  that  managers  give  me  to 
bribe  a  good  word  in  the  paper  and  reviewers'  copies  of  books. 
In  short,  Finot  once  satisfied,  I  am  allowed  to  write  for  and 
against  various  commercial  articles,  and  I  traffic  in  tribute 
paid  in  kind  by  various  tradesmen.  A  facetious  notice  of  a 
Carminative  Toilet  Lotion,  *  Pite  des  Sultanes,'  Cephalic  Oil, 
or  Brazilian  Mixture  brings  me  in  twenty  or  thirty  francs. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  dun  the  publishers  when  they  don't  send 
in  a  sufficient  number  of  reviewers*  copies ;  Finot,  as  editor, 
appropriates  two  and  sells  them,  and  I  must  have  two  to  sell. 
If  a  book  of  capital  importance  comes  out,  and  the  publisher 
is  stingy  with  copies,  his  life  is  made  a  burden  to  him.     The 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  107 

craft  is  vile,  but  I"  live  by  it,  and  so  do  scores  of  others.  Do 
not  imagine  that  things  are  any  better  in  public  life.  There 
is  corruption  everywhere  in  both  regions;  every  man  is  cor- 
rupt or  corrupts  others.  If  there  is  any  publishing  enterprise 
somewhat  larger  than  usual  afoot,  the  trade  will  pay  me  some- 
thing to  buy  neutrality.  The  amount  of  my  income  varies, 
therefore,  directly  with  the  prospectuses.  When  prospectuses 
break  out  like  a  rash,  money  pours  into  my  pockets ;  I  stand 
treat  all  round.     When  trade  is  dull,  I  dine  at  Flicoteaux's. 

**  Actresses  will  pay  you  likewise  for  praise,  but  the  wiser 
among  them  pay  for  criticism.  To  be  passed  over  in  silence 
is  what  they  dread  the  most ;  and  the  very  best  thing  of  all, 
from  their  point  of  view,  is  criticism  which  draws  down  a 
reply ;  it  is  far  more  effectual  than  bald  praise,  forgotten  as 
soon  as  read,  and  it  costs  more  in  consequence.  Celebrity, 
my  dear  fellow,  is  based  upon  controversy.  I  am  a  hired 
bravo ;  I  ply  my  trade  among  ideas  and  reputations,  com- 
mercial, literary,  and  dramatic ;  I  make  some  fifty  crowns  a 
month  ;  I  can  sell  a  novel  for  five  hundred  francs  ;  and  I  am 
beginning  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  man  to  be  feared.  Some 
day,  instead  of  living  with  Florine  at  the  expense  of  a  drug- 
gist who  gives  himself  the  airs  of  a  lord,  I  shall  be  in  a  house 
of  my  own  ;  I  shall  be  on  the  staff  of  a  leading  newspaper,  I 
shall  have  difeuilleton  (a  fly-leaf  or  portion  of  a  journal) ;  and 
on  that  day,  my  dear  fellow,  Florine  will  become  a  great 
actress.  As  for  me,  I  am  not  sure  what  I  shall  be  when  that 
time  comes,  a  minister  or  an  honest  man — all  things  are  still 
possible. ' ' 

He  raised  his  humiliated  head,  and  looked  out  at  the  green 
leaves,  with  an  expression  of  despairing  self-condemnation 
dreadful  to  see. 

"  And  I  had  a  great  tragedy  accepted  !  "  he  went  on. 
"  And  among  my  papers  there  is  a  poem,  which  will  die.  And 
I  was  a  good  fellow,  and  my  heart  was  clean  !  I  used  to 
dream  lofty  dreams  of  love  for  great  ladies,  queens  in  the 


108  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

great  world ;  and — my  mistress  is  an  actress  at  the  Panorama- 
Dramatique.  And,  lastly,  if  a  bookseller  declines  to  send  a 
copy  of  a  book  to  my  paper,  I  shall  run  down  work  which  is 
good,  as  I  know." 

Lucien  was  moved  to  tears,  and  he  grasped  Etienne's  hand 
in  his.  The  journalist  rose  to  his  feet,  and  the  pair  went  up 
and  down  the  broad  Avenue  de  I'Observatoire,  as  if  their 
lungs  craved  ampler  breathing  space. 

"Outside  the  world  of  letters,"  Etienne  Lousteau  con- 
tinued, "not  a  single  creature  suspects  that  every  one  who 
succeeds  in  that  world — who  has  a  certain  vogue,  that  is  to  say, 
or  comes  into  fashion,  or  gains  reputation,  or  renown,  or  fame, 
or  favor  with  the  public  (for  by  these  names  we  know  the 
rungs  of  the  ladder  by  which  we  climb  to  the  greater  heights 
above  and  beyond  them) — every  one  who  comes  even  thus  far 
is  the  hero  of  a  dreadful  Odyssey,  Brilliant  portents  rise  above 
the  mental  horizon  through  a  combination  of  a  thousand  acci- 
dents ;  conditions  change  so  swiftly  that  no  two  men  have 
been  known  to  reach  success  by  the  same  road.  Canalis  and 
Nathan  are  two  dissimilar  cases ;  things  never  fall  out  in  the 
same  way  twice.  There  is  d'Arthez,  who  knocks  himself  to 
pieces  with  work — he  will  make  a  famous  name  by  some  other 
chance. 

**  This  so  much  desired  reputation  is  nearly  always  crowned 
prostitution.  Yes ;  the  poorest  kind  of  literature  is  the  hap- 
less creature  freezing  at  a  street  corner ;  second-rate  literature 
is  the  kept-mistress  picked  out  of  the  brothels  of  journalism, 
and  I  am  her  bully ;  lastly,  there  is  lucky  literature,  the 
flaunting,  insolent  courtesan  who  has  a  house  of  her  own  and 
pays  taxes,  who  receives  great  lords,  treating  or  ill-treating 
them  as  she  pleases,  who  has  liveried  servants  and  a  carriage 
and  can  afford  to  keep  greedy  creditors  waiting.  Ah  !  and 
for  yet  others,  for  me  not  so  very  long  ago,  for  you  to-day — 
she  is  a  white-robed  angel  with  many-colored  wings,  bearing 
a  green  palm  branch  in  the  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  a 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  109 

flaming  sword.  An  angel,  something  akin  to  the  mythologi- 
cal abstraction  which  lives  at  the  bottom  of  a  well,  and  to  the 
poor  and  honest  girl  who  lives  a  life  of  exile  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  great  city,  earning  every  penny  with  a  noble  fortitude 
and  in  the  full  light  of  virtue,  returning  to  heaven  inviolate 
of  body  and  soul ;  unless,  indeed,  she  comes  to  lie  at  the  last, 
soiled,  despoiled,  polluted,  and  forgotten,  on  a  pauper's  bier. 
As  for  the  men  whose  brains  are  encompassed  with  bronzp, 
whose  hearts  are  still  warm  under  the  snows  of  experience, 
they  are  found  but  seldom  in  the  country  that  lies  at  our  feet," 
he  added,  pointing  to  the  great  city  seething  in  the  late  after- 
noon light. 

A  vision  of  d'Arthez  and  his  friends  flashed  upon  Lucien's 
sight  and  made  appeal  to  him  for  a  moment ;  but  Lousteau's 
appalling  lamentation  carried  him  away. 

"  They  are  very  few  and  far  between  in  that  great  ferment- 
ing vat ;  rare  as  love  in  love-making,  rare  as  fortunes  honestly 
made  in  business,  rare  as  the  journalist  whose  hands  are  clean. 
The  experience  of  the  first  man  who  told  me  all  that  I  am 
telling  you  was  thrown  away  upon  me,  and  mine  no  doubt 
will  be  wasted  upon  you.  It  is  always  the  same  old  story 
year  after  year ;  the  same  eager  rush  to  Paris  from  the  prov- 
inces; the  same,  not  to  say  a  growing,  number  of  beardless, 
ambitious  boys,  who  advance,  head  erect  and  the  heart  beat- 
ing high  in  them,  to  storm  the  citadel  of  the  fashion — that 
Princess  Tourandocte  of  the  *  Mille  et  un  Jours '  (Thousand 
and  one  Days) — each  one  of  them  fain  to  be  her  Prince  Calaf, 
But  never  a  one  of  them  reads  the  riddle.  One  by  one  they 
drop,  some  into  the  trench  where  failures  lie,  some  into  the 
mire  of  journalism,  some  again  into  the  quagmires  of  the 
booktrade. 

"  They  pick  up  a  living,  these  beggars,  what  with  bio- 
graphical notices,  penny-a-lining,  and  scraps  of  news  for  the 
papers.  They  become  booksellers'  hacks  for  the  clear-headed 
dealers  in  printed  paper,  who  would  sooner  take  the  rubbish 


110  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

that  goes  off  in  a  fortnight  than  a  masterpiece  which  requires 
time  to  sell.  The  life  is  crushed  out  of  the  grubs  before  they 
reach  the  butterfly  stage.  They  live  by  shame  and  dishonor. 
They  are  ready  to  write  down  a  rising  genius  or  to  praise  him 
to  the  skies  at  a  word  from  the  pacha  of  the  *  Constitutionnel,' 
the  *  Quotidienne,'  or  the  'Debats,'  at  a  sign  from  a  pub- 
lisher, at  the  request  of  a  jealous  comrade,  or  (as  not  seldom 
happens)  simply  for  a  dinner.  Some  surmount  the  obstacles, 
and  these  forget  the  misery  of  their  early  days.  I,  who  am 
telling  you  this,  have  been  putting  the  best  that  is  in  me  into 
newspaper  articles  for  six  months  past  for  a  blackguard  who 
gives  them  out  as  his  own  and  has  secured  a  feuilleton  in 
another  paper  on  the  strength  of  them.  He  has  not  taken 
me  on  as  his  collaborator,  he  has  not  given  me  so  much  as  a 
five-franc  piece,  but  I  hold  out  a  hand  to  grasp  his  when  we 
meet;  I  cannot  help  myself." 

"  And  why  ?  "  Lucien  asked  indignantly. 

"I  may  want  to  put  a  dozen  lines  into  h\s  feuilleton  some 
day,"  Lousteau  answered  coolly.  "  In  short,  my  dear  fel- 
low, in  literature  you  will  not  make  money  by  hard  work, 
that  is  not  the  secret  of  success ;  the  point  is  to  exploit  the 
work  of  somebody  else.  A  newspaper  proprietor  is  a  con- 
tractor, we  are  the  bricklayers.  The  more  mediocre  the 
man,  the  better  his  chance  of  getting  on  among  mediocrities; 
he  can  play  the  toad-eater,  put  up  with  any  treatment,  and 
flatter  all  the  little  base  passions  of  the  sultans  of  literature. 
There  is  Hector  Merlin,  who  came  from  Limoges  a  short  time 
ago  ;  he  is  writing  political  articles  already  for  a  Right  Centre 
daily,  and  he  is  at  work  on  our  little  paper  as  well.  I  have 
seen  an  editor  drop  his  hat  and  Merlin  pick  it  up.  The  fel- 
low was  careful  never  to  give  offense,  and  slipped  into  the 
thick  of  the  fight  between  rival  ambitions.  I  am  sorry  for 
you.  It  is  as  if  I  saw  in  you  the  self  that  I  used  to  be,  and 
sure  am  I  that  in  one  or  two  years'  time  you  will  be  what  I 
am  now.     You  will  think  that  there  is  some  lurking  jealousy 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  HI 

or  personal  motive  in  this  bitter  counsel,  but  it  is  prompted 
by  the  despair  of  a  damned  soul  that  can  never  leave  hell. 
No  one  ventures  to  utter  such  things  as  these.  You  hear  the 
groans  of  anguish  from  a  man  wounded  to  the  heart,  crying 
like  a  second  Job  from  the  ashes,  *  Behold  my  sores  !  '" 

**  But  whether  I  fight  upon  this  field  or  elsewhere,  fight  I 
must,"  said  Lucien. 

"Then,  be  sure  of  this,"  returned  Lousteau,  "  if  you  have 
anything  in  you,  the  war  will  know  no  truce,  the  best  chance 
of  success  lies  in  an  empty  head.  The  austerity  of  your  con- 
science, clear  as  yet,  will  relax  when  you  see  that  a  man  holds 
your  future  in  his  two  hands,  when  a  word  from  such  a  man 
means  life  to  you,  and  he  will  not  say  that  word.  For,  be- 
lieve me,  the  most  brutal  bookseller  in  the  trade  is  not  so  in- 
solent, so  hard-hearted  to  a  new-comer  as  the  celebrity  of  the 
day.  The  bookseller  sees  a  possible  loss  of  money,  while  the 
writer  of  books  dreads  a  possible  rival ;  the  first  shows  you 
the  door,  the  second  crushes  the  life  out  of  you.  To  do 
really  good  work,  my  boy,  means  that  you  will  draw  out  the 
energy,  sap,  and  tenderness  of  your  nature  at  every  dip  of  the 
pen  in  the  ink,  to  set  it  forth  for  the  world  in  passion  and 
sentiment  and  phrases.  Yes;  instead  of  acting,  you  will 
write ;  you  will  sing  songs  instead  of  fighting ;  you  will  love 
and  hate  and  live  in  your  books;  and  then,  after  all,  when  you 
shall  have  reserved  your  riches  for  your  style,  your  gold  and 
purple  for  your  characters,  and  you  yourself  are  walking  the 
streets  of  Paris  in  rags,  rejoicing  in  that,  rivaling  the  state 
register,  you  have  authorized  the  existence  of  a  being  styled 
Adolphe,  Corinne  or  Clarissa,  Rene  or  Manon ;  when  you 
shall  have  spoiled  your  life  and  your  digestion  to  give  life  to 
that  creation,  then  you  shall  see  it  slandered,  betrayed,  sold, 
swept  away  into  the  back  waters  of  oblivion  by  journalists 
and  buried  out  of  sight  by  your  best  friends.  How  can  you 
afford  to  wait  until  the  day  when  your  creation  shall  rise  again, 
raised  from  the  dead — how  ?  when  ?  and  by  whom  ?    Take  a 


112  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

magnificent  book,  the  pianto  of  unbelief;  *  Obermann  '  is  a 
solitary  wanderer  in  the  desert  places  of  booksellers'  ware- 
houses, he  has  been  a  '  nightingale,'  ironically  so  called,  from 
the  very  beginning :  when  will  his  Easter  come  ?  Who 
knows?  Try,  to  begin  with,  to  find  somebody  bold  enough 
to  print  the  '  Marguerites  \ '  not  to  pay  for  them,  but  simply 
to  print  them ;  and  you  will  see  some  queer  things." 

The  fierce  tirade,  delivered  in  every  tone  of  the  passionate 
feeling  which  it  expressed,  fell  upon  Lucien's  spirit  like  an 
avalanche,  and  left  a  sense  of  glacial  cold.  For  one  moment 
he  stood  silent ;  then,  as  he  felt  the  terrible,  stimulating  charm 
of  difficulty  beginning  to  work  upon  him,  his  courage  blazed 
up.     He  grasped  Lousteau's  hand. 

"  I  will  triumph  !  "  he  cried  aloud. 

''  Good  !  "  said  the  other,  ''  one  more  Christian  given  over 
to  the  wild  beasts  in  the  arena.  There  is  a  first-night  per- 
formance at  the  Panorama-Dramatique,  my  dear  fellow;  it 
doesn't  begin  till  eight,  so  you  can  change  your  coat,  come 
properly  dressed  in  fact,  and  call  for  me.  I  am  living  on  the 
fourth  floor  above  the  Cafe  Servel,  Rue  de  la  Harpe.  We 
will  go  to  Dauriat's  first  of  all.  You  still  mean  to  go  on,  do 
you  not  ?  Very  well,  I  will  introduce  you  to  one  of  the  kings 
of  the  trade  to-night,  and  to  one  or  two  journalists.  We  will 
sup  with  my  mistress  and  several  friends  after  the  play,  for 
you  cannot  count  that  dinner  as  a  meal.  Finot  will  be  there, 
editor  and  proprietor  of  my  paper.  As  Minette  says  in  the 
Vaudeville  (do  you  remember  ?),  *  Time  is  a  great  lean  crea- 
ture.' Well,  for  the  like  of  us,  Chance  is  a  great  lean  crea- 
ture, and  must  be  tempted." 

"I  shall  remember  this  day  as  long  as  I  live,"  said 
Lucien. 

''Bring  your  manuscript  with  you,  and  be  careful  of 
your  dress,  not  on  Florine's  account,  but  for  the  booksellers* 
benefit." 

The  comrade's  good-nature,  following  upon  the  poet's  pas- 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  113 

sionate  outcry,  as  he  described  the  war  of  letters,  moved  Lu- 
cien  quite  as  deeply  as  d'Arthez's  grave  and  earnest  words  on  a 
former  occasion.  The  prospect  of  entering  at  once  upon  the 
strife  with  men  warmed  him.  In  his  youth  and  inexperience 
he  had  no  suspicion  how  real  were  the  moral  evils  denounced 
by  the  journalist.  Nor  did  he  know  that  he  was  standing  at 
the  parting  of  two  distinct  ways,  between  two  systems,  repre- 
sented by  the  brotherhood  upon  one  hand  and  journalism 
upon  the  other.  The  first  way  was  long,  honorable,  and  sure ; 
the  second  beset  with  hidden  dangers,  a  perilous  path,  among 
muddy  channels  where  conscience  is  inevitably  bespattered. 
The  bent  of  Lucien's  character  determined  for  the  shorter 
way,  and  the  apparently  pleasanter  way,  and  to  snatch  at  the 
quickest  and  promptest  means.  At  this  moment  he  saw  no 
difference  between  d'Arthez's  noble  friendship  and  Lousteau's 
easy  camaraderie ;  his  inconstant  mind  discerned  a  new 
weapon  in  journalism ;  he  felt  that  he  could  wield  it,  so  he 
wished  to  take  it. 

He  was  dazzled  by  the  offers  of  this  new  friend,  who  had 
struck  a  hand  in  his  in  an  easy  way,  which  charmed  Lucien. 
How  should  he  know  that  while  every  man  in  the  army  of 
the  press  needs  friends,  every  leader  needs  men.  Lousteau, 
seeing  that  Lucien  was  resolute,  enlisted  him  as  a  recruit  and 
hoped  to  attach  him  to  himself.  The  relative  positions  of 
the  two  were  similar — one  hoped  to  become  a  corporal,  the 
other  to  enter  the  ranks. 

Lucien  went  back  gaily  to  his  lodgings.  He  was  as  careful 
over  his  toilet  as  on  that  former  unlucky  occasion  when  he 
occupied  the  Marquise  d'Espard's  box;  but  he  had  learned 
by  this  time  how  to  wear  his  clothes  with  a  better  grace. 
They  looked  as  though  they  belonged  to  him.  He  wore  his 
best  tightly  fitting,  light-colored  trousers,  and  a  dress  coat. 
His  boots,  a  very  elegant  pair  adorned  with  tassels,  had  cost 
him  forty  francs.  His  thick,  fine,  golden  hair  was  scented 
and  crimped  into  bright,  rippling  curls.  Self-confidence  and 
8 


114  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

belief  in  his  future  lighted  up  his  forehead.  He  paid  careful 
attention  to  his  almost  feminine  hands,  the  filbert  nails  were 
a  spotless  rose-pink,  and  the  white  contours  of  his  chin  were 
dazzling  by  contrast  with  a  black  satin  stock.  Never  did  a 
more  beautiful  youth  come  down  from  the  hills  of  the  Latin 
Quarter. 

Glorious  as  a  Greek  god,  Lucien  took  a  cab  and  reached 
the  Caf6  Servel  at  a  quarter  to  seven.  There  the  portress 
gave  him  some  tolerably  complicated  directions  for  the  ascent 
of  four  pair  of  stairs.  Provided  with  these  instructions,  he 
discovered,  not  without  difficulty,  an  open  door  at  the  end  of 
a  long,  dark  passage,  and  in  another  moment  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  traditional  room  of  the  Latin  Quarter. 

A  young  man's  poverty  follows  him  wherever  he  goes — 
into  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe  as  into  the  Rue  de  Cluny,  into 
d'Arthez's  room,  into  Chrestien's  lodging ;  yet  everywhere  no 
less  the  poverty  has  its  own  peculiar  characteristics,  due  to  the 
idiosyncrasies  of  the  sufferer.  Poverty  in  this  case  wore  a 
sinister  look. 

A  shabby,  cheap  carpet  lay  in  wrinkles  at  the  foot  of  a  cur- 
tainless  walnut-wood  bedstead  ;  dingy  curtains,  begrimed  with 
cigar-smoke  and  fumes  from  a  smoky  chimney,  hung  in  the 
windows  ;  a  Carcel  lamp,  Florine's  gift,  on  the  chimney-piece, 
had  so  far  escaped  the  pawnbroker.  Add  a  forlorn-looking 
chest  of  drawers,  a  table  littered  with  papers  and  disheveled 
quill-pens,  and  the  list  of  furniture  is  almost  complete.  All  the 
books  had  evidently  arrived  in  the  course  of  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours ;  and  there  was  not  a  single  object  of  any  value  in 
the  room.  In  one  corner  you  beheld  a  collection  of  crushed 
and  flattened  cigars,  soiled  pocket-handkerchiefs,  shirts  which 
had  been  turned  to  do  double  duty,  and  cravats  that  had 
reached  a  third  edition ;  while  a  sordid  array  of  old  shoes 
stood  gaping  in  another  angle  of  the  room  among  aged  socks 
worn  into  lace. 

The  room,  in  short,  was  a  journalist's  bivouac,  filled  with 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  115 

odds  and  ends  of  no  value,  and  the  most  curiously  bare  apart- 
ment imaginable.  A  scarlet  tinder-box  glowed  among  a  pile 
of  books  on  the  night-stand.  A  brace  of  pistols,  a  box  of 
cigars,  and  a  stray  razor  lay  upon  the  mantel-shelf;  a  pair  of 
foils,  crossed  under  a  wire  mask,  hung  against  a  panel.  Three 
chairs  and  a  couple  of  armchairs,  scacely  fit  for  the  shabbiest 
lodging-house  in  the  street,  completed  the  inventory. 

The  dirty,  cheerless  room  told  a  tale  of  a  restless  life  and  a 
want  of  self-respect ;  some  one  came  hither  to  sleep  and  work 
at  high  pressure,  staying  no  longer  than  he  could  help,  longing, 
while  he  remained,  to  be  out  and  away.  What  a  difference 
between  this  cynical  disorder  and  d'Arthez's  neat  and  self- 
respecting  poverty  !  A  warning  came  with  the  thought  of 
d'Arthez  ;  but  Lucien  would  not  heed  it,  for  Etienne  made  a 
joking  remark  to  cover  the  nakedness  of  a  reckless  bohemian 
life. 

"  This  is  my  kennel ;  I  appear  in  state  in  the  Rue  de  Bondy, 
in  the  new  apartments  which  our  druggist  has  taken  for 
Florine ;  we  hold  the  house-warming  this  evening." 

Etienne  Lousteau  wore  black  trousers  and  beautifully 
varnished  shoes;  his  coat  was  buttoned  up  to  the  chin  ;  he 
probably  meant  to  change  his  linen  at  Florine's  house,  for  his 
shirt  collar  was  hidden  by  a  velvet  stock.  He  was  trying  to 
renovate  his  hat  by  an  application  of  the  brush. 

"Let  us  go,"  said  Lucien. 

**  Not  yet.  I  am  waiting  for  a  bookseller  to  bring  me  some 
money ;  I  have  not  a  farthing ;  there  will  be  play,  perhaps, 
and  in  any  case  I  must  have  gloves." 

As  he  spoke  the  two  new  friends  heard  a  man's  step  in  the 
passage  outside. 

"There  he  is,"  said  Lousteau.  "Now  you  will  see,  my 
dear  fellow,  the  shape  that  providence  takes  when  he  manifests 
himself  to  poets.  You  are  going  to  behold  Dauriat,  the 
fashionable  bookseller,  in  all  his  glory;  but  first  you  shall  see 
the  bookseller  of  the  Quai  des  Augustins,  the  pawnbroker,  the 


116  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

marine  store-dealer  of  the  trade,  the  Norman  ex-green-grocer. 
Come  along,  old  tartar!  "  shouted  Lousteau. 

"  Here  am  I,"  said  a  voice  like  a  cracked  bell. 

"  Brought  the  money  with  you  ?  " 

"  Money?  There  is  no  money  now  in  the  trade,"  retorted 
the  other,  a  young  man  who  eyed  Lucien  curiously. 

"Imprimis :  you  owe  me  fifty  francs,"  Lousteau  continued. 

"  There  are  two  copies  of  *  Travels  in  Egypt '  here,  a 
marvel,  so  they  say,  swarming  with  woodcuts,  sure  to  sell. 
Finot  has  been  paid  for  two  reviews  that  I  am  to  write  for 
him.  Item  :  two  works,  just  out  by  Victor  Ducange,  a  novelist 
highly  thought  of  in  the  Marais.  liem^ :  a  couple  of  copies 
of  a  second  work  by  Paal  de  Kock,  a  beginner  in  the  same 
style.  Hem:  two  copies  of  '  Yseult  of  Dole,'  a  charming 
provincial  work.  Total,  one  hundred  francs  net.  Wherefore 
you  owe  me  one  hundred  francs,  my  little  Barbet." 

Barbet  made  a  close  survey  of  edges  and  binding. 

"Oh!  they  are  in  perfect  condition,"  cried  Lousteau. 
"  The  *  Travels '  are  uncut,  so  is  the  Paul  de  Kock,  so  is  the 
Ducange,  so  is  that  other  thing  on  the  chimney-piece,  *  Con- 
siderations on  Symbolism.'  I  will  throw  that  in ;  myths 
weary  me  to  that  degree  that  I  will  let  you  have  the  thing  to 
spare  myself  the  sight  of  the  swarms  of  mites  coming  out  of  it," 
he  added. 

"But,"  asked  Lucien,  "how  are  you  going  to  write  your 
reviews  ? ' ' 

Barbet,  in  profound  astonishment,  stared  at  Lucien ;  then 
he  looked  at  Etienne  and  chuckled. 

**  One  can  see  that  the  gentleman  has  not  the  misfortune  to 
be  a  literary  man,"  said  he. 

"  No,  Barbet — no.  He  is  a  poet,  a  great  poet ;  he  is  going 
to  cut  out  Canalis,  and  Beranger,  and  Delavigne.  He  will 
go  a  long  way  if  he  does  not  throw  himself  into  the  river,  and 
even  so  he  will  get  as  far  as  the  drag-nets  in  the  Seine  at 
Saint-Cloud." 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  117 

"If  I  had  any  advice  to  give  the  gentleman,"  remarked 
Barbet,  "it  would  be  to  give  up  poetry  and  take  to  prose. 
Poetry  is  not  wanted  on  the  quais  just  now." 

Barbet's  shabby  overcoat  was  fastened  by  a  single  button ; 
his  collar  was  greasy ;  he  kept  his  hat  on  his  head  as  he  spoke ; 
he  wore  low  shoes;  an  open  waistcoat  gave  glimpses  of  a 
homely  shirt  of  coarse  linen.  Good-nature  was  not  wanting 
in  the  round  countenance,  with  its  two  slits  of  covetous  eyes ; 
but  there  was  likewise  the  vague  uneasiness  habitual  to  those 
who  have  money  to  spend  and  hear  constant  applications  for 
it.  Yet,  to  all  appearance,  he  was  plain-dealing  and  easy- 
natured,  his  business  shrewdness  was  so  well  wadded  round 
with  fat.  He  had  been  an  assistant  until  he  took  a  wretched 
little  store  on  the  Quai  des  Augustins  two  years  since,  and 
issued  thence  on  his  rounds  among  journalists,  authors,  and 
printers,  buying  up  free  copies  cheaply,  making  in  such  ways 
some  ten  or  twenty  francs  daily.  Now,  he  had  money  saved  ; 
he  knew  instinctively  where  every  man  was  pressed  ;  he  had  a 
keen  eye  for  business.  If  an  author  was  in  difficulties,  he 
would  discount  a  bill  given  by  a  publisher  at  fifteen  or  twenty 
per  cent.;  then  the  next  day  he  would  go  the  publisher, 
haggle  over  the  price  of  some  work  in  demand,  and  pay  him 
with  his  own  bills  instead  of  cash.  Barbet  was  something  of 
a  scholar ;  he  had  just  enough  education  to  make  him  careful 
to  steer  clear  of  modern  poetry  and  modern  romances.  He 
had  a  liking  for  small  speculations,  for  books  of  a  popular 
kind  which  might  be  bought  outright  for  a  thousand  francs 
and  exploited  at  pleasure,  such  as  the  **  Child's  History  of 
France,"  "Bookkeeping  in  Twenty  Lessons,"  and  "Botany 
for  Young  Ladies."  Two  or  three  times  already  he  had 
allowed  a  good  book  to  slip  through  his  fingers ;  the  authors 
had  come  and  gone  a  score  of  times  while  he  hesitated  and 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  buy  the  manuscript.  When 
reproached  for  his  pusillanimity,  he  was  wont  to  produce  the 
account  of  a  notorious  trial  taken  from  the  newspapers;   it 


118  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

cost  him  nothing  and  had  brought  him  in  two  or  three  thou- 
sand francs. 

Barbet  was  the  type  of  bookseller  that  goes  in  fear  and 
trembling ;  he  lives  on  bread  and  walnuts ;  rarely  puts  his 
name  to  a  bill ;  filches  little  profits  on  invoices ;  makes  deduc- 
tions, and  hawks  his  books  about  himself;  heaven  only  knows 
where  they  go,  but  he  sells  them  somehow,  and  gets  paid  for 
them.  Barbet  was  the  terror  of  printers,  who  could  not  tell 
what  to  make  of  him;  he  paid  cash  and  took  off  the  discount ; 
he  nibbled  at  their  invoices  whenever  he  thought  they  were 
pressed  for  money ;  and  when  he  had  fleeced  a  man  once  he 
never  went  back  to  him — he  feared  to  be  caught  in  his  turn. 

"Well,"  said  Lousteau,  "shall  we  go  on  with  our  busi- 
ness ?  ' ' 

"Eh!  my  boy,"  returned  Barbet  in  a  familiar  tone;  "I 
have  six  thousand  volumes  of  stock  on  hand  at  my  place,  and 
*  paper  is  not  gold,'  as  the  old  bookseller  said.     Trade  is  dull." 

"  If  you  went  into  his  shop,  my  dear  Lucien,"  said  Etienne, 
turning  to  his  friend,  "  you  would  see  an  oak  counter  from 
some  bankrupt  wine  merchant's  sale,  and  a  tallow  dip,  never 
snuffed  for  fear  it  should  burn  too  quickly,  making  darkness 
visible.  By  that  anomalous  light  you  descry  rows  of  empty 
shelves  with  some  difficulty.  An  urchin  in  a  blue  blouse 
mounts  guard  over  the  emptiness,  and  blows  his  fingers,  and 
shuffles  his  feet,  and  slaps  his  chest,  like  a  cabman  on  the 
box.  Just  look  about  you  !  there  are  no  more  books  there 
than  I  have  here.  Nobody  could  guess  what  kind  of  store  he 
keeps." 

"  Here  is  a  bill  at  three  months  for  a  hundred  francs,"  said 
Barbet,  and  he  could  not  help  smiling  as  he  drew  it  out  of  his 
pocket ;  "  I  will  take  your  old  books  off  your  hands.  I  can't 
pay  cash  any  longer,  you  see  ;  sales  are  too  slow.  I  thought 
that  you  would  be  wanting  me ;  I  had  not  a  penny,  and  I 
made  out  a  bill  simply  to  oblige  you,  for  I  am  not  fond  of 
giving  my  signature." 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  119 

"  So  you  want  my  thanks  and  esteem  into  the  bargain,  do 
you?" 

"Bills  are  not  met  with  sentiment,"  responded  Barbet; 
"  but  I  will  accept  your  esteem,  all  the  same." 

"  But  I  want  gloves,  and  the  perfumers  will  be  base  enough 
to  decline  your  paper,"  said  Lousteau.  "Stop,  there  is  a 
superb  engraving  in  the  top  drawer  in  the  chest  there,  worth  - 
eighty  francs,  proof  before  letters  and  after  letter-press,  for  I 
have  written  a  pretty  droll  article  upon  it.  There  was  some- 
thing to  lay  hold  of  in  *  Hippocrates  refusing  the  Presents  of 
Artaxerxes.'  A  fine  engraving,  eh?  Just  the  thing  to  suit 
all  the  doctors,  who  are  refusing  the  extravagant  gifts  of  Paris- 
ian satraps.  You  will  find  two  or  three  dozen  novels  under- 
neath it.     Come,  now,  take  the  lot  and  give  me  forty  francs." 

"  Forty  francs  /  "  exclaimed  the  bookseller,  emitting  a  cry 
like  the  squall  of  a  frightened  fowl.  "  Twenty  at  the  very 
most !  And  then  I  may  never  see  the  money  again,"  he 
added. 

"  Where  are  your  twenty  francs?  "  asked  Lousteau. 

"  My  word,  I  don't  know  that  I  have  them,"  said  Barbet, 
fumbling  in  his  pockets.  "  Here  they  are.  You  are  plunder- 
ing me ;  you  have  an  ascendency  over  me " 

"  Come,  let  us  be  off,"  said  Lousteau,  and,  taking  up  Lu- 
cien's  manuscript,  he  drew  a  line  upon  it  in  ink  under  the 
string. 

*'  Have  you  anything  else  ?  "  asked  Barbet. 

"  Nothing,  you  young  Shylock.  I  am  going  to  put  you  in 
the  way  of  a  bit  of  very  good  business,"  Etienne  continued 
(**  in  which  you  shall  lose  a  thousand  crowns,  to  teach  you  to 
rob  me  in  this  fashion"),  he  added  for  Lucien's  ear. 

"But  how  about  your  reviews?"  said  Lucien,  as  they 
rolled  away  to  the  Palais  Royal. 

"  Pooh  !  you  do  not  know  how  reviews  are  knocked  off. 
As  for  the  *  Travels  in  Egypt,'  I  looked  into  the  book  here 
and  there  (without  cutting  the  pages),  and  I  found  eleven 


120  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

slips  in  grammar.  I  shall  say  that  the  writer  may  have  mas- 
tered the  dicky-bird  language  on  the  flints  that  they  call 
'  obelisks '  out  there  in  Egypt,  but  he  cannot  write  in  his 
own,  as  I  will  prove  to  him  in  a  column  and  a  half.  I  shall 
say  that  instead  of  giving  us  natural  history  and  archaeology, 
he  ought  to  have  interested  himself  in  the  future  of  Egypt, 
in  the  progress  of  civilization,  and  the  best  method  of  strength- 
ening the  bond  between  Egypt  and  France.  France  has  won 
and  lost  Egypt,  but  she  may  yet  attach  the  country  to  her 
interests  by  gaining  a  moral  ascendency  over  it.  Then  some 
patriotic  penny-a-lining,  interlarded  with  diatribes  on  Mar- 
seilles, the  Levant,  and  our  trade." 

"  But  suppose  that  he  had  taken  that  view,  what  would  you 
do?" 

"  Oh  well,  I  should  say  that  instead  of  boring  us  with 
politics,  he  should  have  written  about  art,  and  described  the 
picturesque  aspects  of  the  country  and  the  local  color.  Then 
the  critic  bewails  himself.  Politics  are  intruded  everywhere ; 
we  are  weary  of  politics — politics  on  all  sides.  I  should 
regret  those  charming  books  of  travel  that  dwelt  upon  the 
difficulties  of  navigation,  the  fascination  of  steering  between 
two  rocks,  the  delights  of  crossing  the  line,  and  all  the  things 
that  those  who  will  never  travel  ought  to  know.  Mingle  this 
approval  with  scoffing  at  the  travelers  who  hail  the  appearance 
of  a  bird  or  a  flying-fish  as  a  great  event,  who  dilate  upon 
fishing,  and  make  transcripts  from  the  log.  Where,  you  ask, 
is  that  perfectly  unintelligible  scientific  information,  fasci- 
nating, like  all  that  is  profound,  mysterious,  and  incompre- 
hensible. The  reader  laughs,  that  is  all  that  he  wants.  As  for 
novels,  Florine  is  the  greatest  novel  reader  alive  ;  she  gives  me 
a  synopsis  and  I  take  her  opinion  and  put  a  review  together. 
When  a  novelist  bores  her  with  *  author's  stuff",'  as  she  calls  it, 
I  treat  the  work  respectfully,  and  ask  the  publisher  for  another 
copy,  which  he  sends  forthwith,  delighted  to  have  a  favorable 
review.'' 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  121 

"  Goodness !  and  what  of  criticism,  the  critic's  sacred 
ofl5ce?"  cried  Lucien,  remembering  the  ideas  instilled  into 
him  by  the  brotherhood. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Lousteau,  "criticism  is  a  kind  of 
brush  which  must  not  be  used  upon  flimsy  stuff,  or  it  carries  it 
all  away  with  it.  That  is  enough  of  the  craft,  now  listen  ! 
Do  you  see  that  mark?  "  he  continued,  pointing  to  the  mamr- 
script  of  the  "  Marguerites."  "  I  have  put  ink  on  the  string 
and  paper.  If  Dauriat  reads  your  manuscript,  he  certainly 
could  not  tie  the  string  and  leave  it  just  as  it  was  before.  So 
your  book  is  sealed,  so  to  speak.  This  is  not  useless  to  you 
for  the  experiment  that  you  propose  to  make.  And  another 
thing :  please  to  observe  that  you  are  not  arriving  quite  alone 
and  without  a  sponsor  in  the  place,  like  the  youngsters  who 
make  the  round  of  half-a-score  of  publishers  before  they  find 
one  that  will  offer  them  a  chair." 

Lucien's  experience  confirmed  the  truth  of  this  particular. 
Lousteau  paid  the  cabman,  giving  him  three  francs — a  piece 
of  prodigality  following  upon  such  impecuniosity  astonishing 
Lucien  more  than  a  little.  Then  the  two  friends  entered  the 
Wooden  Galleries,  where  fashionable  literature,  as  it  is  called, 
used  to  reign  in  state. 


PART  II. 

The  Wooden  Galleries  of  the  Palais  Royal  used  to  be  one 
of  the  most  famous  sights  of  Paris.  Some  description  of  the 
squalid  bazaar  will  not  be  out  of  place  ;  for  there  are  few 
men  of  forty  who  will  not  take  an  interest  in  recollections  of 
a  state  of  things  which  will  seem  incredible  to  a  younger  gen- 
eration. 

The  great  dreary,  spacious  Galerie  d' Orleans,  that  flower- 
less  hothouse,  as  yet  was  not ;  the  space  upon  which  it  now 
stands  was  covered  with  booths  ;  or,  to  be  more  precise,  with 
small,  wooden  dens,  pervious  to  the  weather,  and  dimly 
illuminated  on  the  side  of  the  court  and  the  garden  by  bor- 
rowed lights  styled  windows  by  courtesy,  but  more  like  the 
filthiest  arrangements  for  obscuring  daylight  to  be  found  in 
little  wineshops  in  the  suburbs. 

The  galleries,  parallel  passages  about  twelve  feet  in  height, 
were  formed  by  a  triple  row  of  stores.  The  centre  row,  giving 
back  and  front  upon  the  galleries,  was  filled  with  the  fetid 
atmosphere  of  the  place,  and  derived  a  dubious  daylight 
through  the  invariably  dirty  windows  of  the  roof;  but  so 
thronged  were  these  hives  that  rents  were  excessively  high 
and  as  much  as  a  thousand  crowns  was  paid  for  a  space  scarce 
six  feet  by  eight.  The  outer  rows  gave  respectively  upon  the 
garden  and  the  court,  and  were  covered  on  that  side  by  a 
slight  trellis-work  painted  green,  to  protect  the  crazy  plastered 
walls  from  continual  friction  with  the  passers-by.  In  a  few 
square  feet  of  earth  at  the  back  of  the  stores  strange  freaks 
of  vegetable  life  unknown  to  science  grew  amid  the  products 
of  various  no  less  flourishing  industries.  You  beheld  a  rose- 
bush capped  with  printed  paper  in  such  a  sort  that  the  flowers 
of  rhetoric  were  perfumed  by  the  cankered  blossoms  of  that 
ill-kept,  ill-smelling  garden.  Handbills  and  ribbon  streamers 
(122) 


^  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  125 

of  every  hue  flaunted  gaily  among  the  leaves  ;  natural  flowers 
competed  unsuccessfully  for  an  existence  with  odds  and  ends 
of  millinery.  You  discovered  a  knot  of  ribbon  adorning  a 
green  tuft ;  the  dahlia  admired  afar  proved  on  a  nearer  view 
to  be  a  satin  rosette. 

The  Palais  seen  from  the  court  or  from  the  garden  was  a 
fantastic  sight,  a  grotesque  combination  of  walls  of  plaster 
patchwork  which  had  once  been  whitewashed,  of  blistered 
paint,  heterogeneous  placards,  and  all  the  most  unaccountable 
freaks  of  Parisian  squalor ;  the  green  trellises  were  prodigiously 
the  dingier  for  constant  contact  with  a  Parisian  public.  So, 
upon  either  side,  the  fetid,  disreputable  approaches  might 
have  been  there  for  the  express  purpose  of  warning  away 
fastidious  people  ;  but  fastidious  folk  no  more  recoiled  before 
these  horrors  than  the  prince  in  the  fairy  stories  turns  tail  at 
sight  of  the  dragon  or  of  the  other  obstacles  put  between  him 
and  the  princess  by  the  wicked  fairy. 

There  was  a  passage  through  the  centre  of  the  galleries  then 
as  now ;  and,  as  at  the  present  day,  you  entered  them  through 
the  two  peristyles  begun  before  the  revolution,  and  left  un- 
finished for  lack  of  funds  ;  but,  in  place  of  the  handsome 
modern  arcade  leading  to  the  Theatre-Fran^ais,  you  passed 
along  a  narrow,  disproportionately  lofty  passage,  so  ill-roofed 
that  the  rain  came  through  on  wet  days.  All  the  roofs  of  the 
hovels  indeed  were  in  very  bad  repair,  and  covered  here  and 
again  with  a  double  thickness  of  tarpaulin.  A  famous  silk 
mercer  once  brought  an  action  against  the  Orleans  family  for 
damages  done  in  the  course  of  a  night  to  his  stock  of  shawls 
and  stuffs,  and  gained  the  day  and  a  considerable  sum.  It 
was  in  this  last-named  passage,  called  "  The  Glass  Gallery  " 
to  distinguish  it  from  the  Wooden  Galleries,  that  Chevet  laid 
the  foundations  of  his  fortunes. 

Here  in  the  Palais  you  trod  the  natural  soil  of  Paris, 
augmented  by  importations  brought  in  upon  the  shoes  of  foot 
passengers ;  here,  at  all  seasons,  you  stumbled  among  hills  and 


124  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

hollows  of  dried  mud  swept  daily  by  the  store-clerk's  besom, 
and  only  after  some  practice  could  you  walk  at  your  ease. 
The  treacherous  mud-heaps,  the  window-panes  incrusted  with 
deposits  of  dust  and  rain,  the  mean-looking  hovels  covered 
with  ragged  placards,  the  grimy  unfinished  walls,  the  general 
air  of  a  compromise  between  a  gypsy  camp,  the  booths  of  a 
country  fair,  and  the  temporary  structures  which  we  in  Paris 
build  round  about  public  monuments  that  remain  unbuilt ;  the 
grotesque  aspect  of  the  mart  as  a  whole  was  in  keeping  with 
the  seething  traffic  of  various  kinds  carried  on  within  it;  for 
here  in  this  shameless,  unblushing  haunt,  amid  wild  mirth 
and  a  babel  of  talk,  an  immense  amount  of  business  was 
transacted  between  the  revolution  of  1 789  and  the  revolution 
of  1830. 

For  twenty  years  the  Bourse  stood  just  opposite,  on  the 
ground  floor  of  the  Palais.  Public  opinion  was  manufactured 
and  reputations  made  and  ruined  here,  just  as  political  and 
financial  jobs  were  arranged.  People  made  appointments  to 
meet  in  the  galleries  before  or  after 'Change;  on  showery  days 
the  Palais  Royal  was  often  crowded  with  weather-bound  cap- 
italists and  men  of  business.  The  structure  which  had  grown 
up,  no  one  knew  how,  about  this  point  was  strangely  resonant, 
laughter  was  multiplied ;  if  two  men  quarreled,  the  whole 
place  rang  from  one  end  to  the  other  with  the  dispute.  In  the 
daytime  milliners  and  booksellers  enjoyed  a  monopoly  of  the 
place ;  toward  nightfall  it  was  filled  with  women  of  the  town. 
Here  dwelt  poetry,  politics,  and  prose,  new  books  and  classics, 
the  glories  of  ancient  and  modern  literature  side  by  side  with 
political  intrigue  and  the  tricks  of  the  bookseller's  trade. 
Here  all  the  very  latest  and  newest  literature  was  sold  to  a 
public  which  resolutely  declined  to  buy  elsewhere.  Sometimes 
several  thousand  copies  of  such  and  such  a  pamphlet  by  Paul- 
Louis  Courier  would  be  sold  in  a  single  evening ;  and  people 
crowded  thither  to  buy  **  Les  aventures  de  la  fille  d'un  Roi  " 
(The  Adventures  of  a  King's  Daughter),  that  first  shot  fired 


4^ PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  126 

by  the  Orleanists  at  the  charter  promulgated  by  the  6migr6 
king,  Louis  XVIII. 

When  Lucien  made  his  first  appearance  in  the  Wooden  Gal- 
leries, some  few  of  the  shops  boasted  proper  fronts  and  hand- 
some windows,  but  these  in  every  case  looked  upon  the  court 
or  the  garden.  As  for  the  centre  row,  until  the  day  when  the 
whole  strange  colony  perished  under  the  hammer  of  Fontaine 
the  architect,  every  store  was  open  back  and  front  like  a  booth 
in  a  country  fair,  so  that  from  within  you  could  look  out  upon 
either  side  through  gaps  among  the  goods  displayed  or  through 
the  glass  doors.  As  it  was  obviously  impossible  to  kindle  a 
fire,  the  tradesmen  were  fain  to  use  charcoal  chahng-dishes, 
and  formed  a  sort  of  brigade  for  the  prevention  of  fires  among 
themselves ;  and,  indeed,  a  little  carelessness  might  have  set 
the  whole  quarter  blazing  in  fifteen  minutes,  for  the  plank- 
built  republic,  dried  by  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  haunted  by 
too  inflammable  human  material,  was  bedizened  with  muslin 
and  paper  and  gauze,  and  ventilated  at  times  by  a  thorough 
draft. 

The  milliners'  windows  were  full  of  impossible  hats  and 
bonnets,  displayed  apparently  for  advertisement  rather  than  for 
sale,  each  on  a  separate  iron  spit  with  a  knob  at  the  top.  The 
galleries  were  decked  out  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  On 
what  heads  would  those  dusty  bonnets  end  their  careers? — for 
a  score  of  years  the  problem  had  puzzled  frequenters  of  the  Pa- 
lais. Saleswomen,  usually  plain-featured  but  vivacious,  waylaid 
the  feminine  foot  passenger  with  cunning  importunities,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  market-women,  and  using  much  the  same  lan- 
guage ;  a  store-girl,  who  made  free  use  of  her  eyes  and  tongue, 
sat  outside  on  a  stool  and  harangued  the  public  with  "Buy  a 
pretty  bonnet,  madame?  Do  let  me  sell  you  something  !  " — 
varying  a  rich  and  picturesque  vocabulary  with  inflexions  of 
the  voice,  with  glances,  and  remarks  upon  the  passers-by. 
Booksellers  and  milliners  lived  on  terms  of  mutual  good  under- 
standing. 


12S  A    PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

But  it  was  in  the  passage  known  by  the  pompous  title 
of  the  "Glass  Gallery"  that  the  oddest  trades  were  car- 
ried on.  Here  were  ventriloquists  and  charlatans  of  every 
sort,  and  sights  of  every  description,  from  the  kind 
where  there  is  really  nothing  to  see  to  panoramas  of 
the  globe.  One  man,  who  has  since  made  seven  or  eight 
hundred  thousand  francs  by  traveling  from  fair  to  fair,  began 
here  by  hanging  out  a  signboard,  a  revolving  sun  in  a  black- 
board, and  the  inscription  in  red  letters — "  Here  Man  may 
see  what  God  can  never  see.  Admittance,  two  sous."  The 
showman  at  the  door  never  admitted  one  person  alone,  nor 
more  than  two  at  a  time.  Once  inside,  you  confronted  a 
great  looking-glass ;  and  a  voice,  which  might  have  terrified 
Hoffmann  of  Berlin,  suddenly  spoke  as  if  some  spring  had 
been  touched,  "  You  see  here,  gentlemen,  something  that  God 
can  never  see  through  all  eternity;  that  is  to  say,  your  like. 
God  has  not  His  like."  And  out  you  went,  too  shame-faced 
to  confess  to  your  stupidity. 

Voices  issued  from  every  narrow  doorway,  crying  up  the 
merits  of  cosmoramas,  views  of  Constantinople,  marionettes, 
automatic  chess  players,  and  performing  dogs  who  would  pick 
you  out  the  prettiest  woman  in  the  company.  The  ventrilo- 
quist, Fitz- James,  flourished  here  in  the  Cafe  Borel  before  he 
went  to  fight  and  fall  at  Montmartre  with  the  young  lads  from 
the  Ecole  Polytechnique.  Here,  too,  there  were  fruit  and 
flower  shops,  and  a  famous  tailor  whose  gold-laced  uniforms 
shone  like  the  sun  when  the  stores  were  lighted  at  night. 

Of  a  morning  the  galleries  were  empty,  dark,  and  deserted; 
the  shopkeepers  chatted  among  themselves.  Toward  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  Palais  began  to  fill ;  at  three, 
men  came  in  from  the  Bourse,  and  Paris,  generally  speaking, 
crowded  the  place.  Impecunious  youth,  hungering  after  lit- 
erature, took  the  opportunity  of  turning  over  the  pages  of  the 
books  exposed  for  sale  on  the  stalls  outside  the  booksellers' 
stores ;  the  men  in  charge  charitably  allowed  a  poor  student 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  127 

to  pursue  his  course  of  free  studies ;  and  in  this  way  a  duo- 
decimo volume  of  some  two  hundred  pages,  such  as  "Smarra" 
or  "Pierre  Schlemihl,"  or  "Jean  Sbogar"  or  "Jocko," 
might  be  devoured  in  a  couple  of  afternoons.  There  was 
something  very  French  in  this  alms  given  to  the  young,  hun- 
gry, starved  intellect.  Circulating  libraries  were  not  as  yet ; 
if  you  wished  to  read  a  book,  you  were  obliged  to  buy  it ;  for 
which  reason  novels  of  the  early  part  of  the  century  were 
sold  in  numbers  which  now  seem  well-nigh  fabulous  to  us. 
But  the  poetry  of  this  terrible  mart  appeared  in  all  its 
splendor  at  the  close  of  the  day.  Women  of  the  town,  flock- 
ing in  and  out  from  the  neighboring  streets,  were  allowed  to 
make  a  promenade  of  the  Wooden  Galleries.  Thither  came 
prostitutes  from  every  quarter  of  Paris  to  "do  the  Palais." 
The  Stone  Galleries  belonged  to  privileged  houses,  which 
paid  for  the  right  of  exposing  women  dressed  like  princesses 
under  such  and  such  an  arch,  or  in  the  corresponding 
space  of  garden  ;  but  the  Wooden  Galleries  were  the  com- 
mon ground  of  women  of  the  streets.  This  was  the  Palais, 
a  word  which  used  to  signify  the  temple  of  prostitution. 
A  woman  might  come  and  go,  taking  away  her  prey  whither- 
soever seemed  good  to  h^r.  So  great  was  the  crowd  at- 
tracted thither  at  night  by  the  women  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  move  except  at  a  slow  pace,  as  in  a  procession 
or  at  a  masked  ball.  Nobody  objected  to  the  slowness; 
it  facilitated  examination.  The  women  dressed  in  a  way 
that  is  never  seen  nowadays.  The  bodices  cut  extremely 
low  both  back  and  front ;  the  fantastical  head-dresses, 
designed  to  attract  notice ;  here  a  cap  from  the  Pays  de 
Caux,  and  there  a  Spanish  mantilla;  the  hair  crimped 
and  curled  like  a  poodle's  or  smoothed  down  in  bandeaux 
over  the  forehead ;  the  close-fitting  white  stockings  and 
limbs,  revealed  it  would  not  be  easy  to  say  how,  but  always 
at  the  right  moment — all  this  poetry  of  vice  has  fled.  The 
license  of  question  and  reply,  the  public  cynicism  in  keeping 


128  A    PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

with  the  haunt,  is  now  unknown  even  at  masquerades  or  the 
famous  public  balls.  It  was  an  appalling,  gay  scene.  The 
dazzling  white  flesh  of  the  women's  necks  and  shoulders  stood 
out  in  magnificent  contrast  against  the  men's  almost  invari- 
ably sombre  costumes.  The  murmur  of  voices,  the  hum  of 
the  crowd,  could  be  heard  even  in  the  middle  of  the  garden 
as  a  sort  of  droning  bass,  interspersed  with  shrieks  of  shrill 
laughter  or  clamor  of  some  rare  dispute.  You  saw  gentlemen 
and  celebrities  cheek  by  jowl  with  gallows-birds.  There  was 
something  indescribably  piquant  about  the  anomalous  assem- 
blage; the  most  insensible  of  men  felt  its  charm,  so  much  so, 
that,  until  the  very  last  moment,  Paris  came  hither  to  walk  up 
and  down  on  the  wooden  planks  laid  over  the  cellars  where 
men  were  at  work  on  the  new  buildings  ;  and  when  the  squalid 
wooden  erections  were  finally  taken  down  great  and  unani- 
mous regret  was  felt. 

Ladvocat  the  bookseller  had  opened  a  store  but  a  few  days 
since  in  the  angle  formed  by  the  central  passage  which 
crossed  the  galleries ;  and  immediately  opposite  another  book- 
seller, now  forgotten,  Dauriat,  a  bold  and  youthful  pioneer, 
who  opened  up  the  paths  in  which  his  rival  was  to  shine. 
Dauriat's  store  stood  in  the  row  \^ich  gave  upon  the  garden  ; 
Ladvocat's,  on  the  opposite  side,  looked  out  upon  the  court. 
Dauriat's  establishment  was  divided  into  two  parts ;  his  store 
was  simply  a  great  trade  warehouse,  and  the  second  room  was 
his  private  office. 

Lucien,  on  this  first  visit  to  the  Wooden  Galleries,  was  be- 
wildered by  a  sight  which  no  novice  can  resist.  He  soon  lost 
the  guide  who  befriended  him. 

"  If  you  were  as  good-looking  as  yonder  young  fellow  I 
would  give  you  your  money's  worth,"  a  woman  said,  pointing 
out  Lucien  to  an  old  man. 

Lucien  slunk  through  the  crowd  like  a  blind-man's  dog, 
following  the  stream  in  a  state  of  stupefaction  and  excitement 
difficult   to  describe.      Importuned   by  glances   and   white. 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  129 

rounded  contours,  dazzled  by  the  audacious  display  of  bared 
throat  and  bosom,  he  gripped  his  roll  of  manuscript  tightly 
lest  somebody  should  steal  it — innocent  that  he  was  ! 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  sir  !  "  he  exclaimed,  thinking,  when  some 
one  caught  him  by  the  arm  that  his  poetry  had  proved  too 
great  a  temptation  for  some  author's  honesty,  znd,  turning,  he 
recognized  Lousteau. 

"I  felt  sure  that  you  would  find  your  way  here  at  last," 
said  his  friend. 

The  poet  was  standing  in  the  doorway  of  a  shop  crowded 
with  persons  waiting  for  an  audience  with  the  sultan  of  the 
publishing  trade.  Printers,  paper-dealers,  and  designers  were 
catechising  Dauriat's  assistants  as  to  present  or  future  business. 

Lousteau  drew  Lucien  into  the  shop.  "  There !  that  is 
Finot  who  edits  my  paper,"  he  said;  "he  is  talking  with 
Felicien  Vernou,  who  has  abilities,  but  the  little  wretch  is  as 
dangerous  as  a  hidden  disease." 

"  Well,  old  boy,  there  is  a  first  night  for  you,"  said  Finot, 
coming  up  with  Vernou.     "  I  have  disposed  of  the  box." 

''Sold  it  toBraulard?" 

"Well,  and  if  I  did,  what  then?  You  will  get  a  seat. 
What  do  you  want  with  Dauriat  ?  Oh,  it  is  agreed  that  we  are 
to  push  Paul  de  Kock,  Dauriat  has  taken  two  hundred  copies, 
and  Victor  Ducange  is  refusing  to  give  him  his  next.  Dauriat 
wants  to  set  up  another  man  in  the  same  line,  he  says.  You 
must  rate  Paul  de  Kock  above  Ducange." 

"  But  I  have  a  piece  on  with  Ducange  at  the  Gaite,"  said 
Lousteau. 

"Very  well,  tell  him  that  I  wrote  the  article.  It  can  be 
supposed  that  I  wrote  a  slashing  review,  and  you  toned  it 
down  ;  and  he  will  owe  you  thanks." 

"  Couldn't  you  get  Dauriat's  cashier  to  discount  this  bit  of 
a  bill  for  a  hundred  francs  !  "  asked  Etienne  Lousteau.    "  We 
are  celebrating  Florine's  house-warming  with  a  supper  to-night, 
you  know." 
9 


130  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

**Ah!  yes,  you  are  treating  us  all,"  said  Finot,  with  an 
apparent  effort  of  memory.  "Here,  Gabusson,"  he  added, 
handing  Barbet's  bill  to  the  cashier,  "  let  me  have  ninety 
francs  for  this  individual.  Fill  in.  your  illustrious  name,  old 
man." 

Lousteau  signed  his  name  while  the  cashier  counted  out 
the  money ;  and  Lucien,  all  eyes  and  ears,  lost  not  a  syllable 
of  the  conversation. 

"That  is  not  all,  my  friend,"  Etienne  continued;  "I 
don't  thank  you,  we  have  sworn  an  eternal  friendship.  I  have 
taken  it  upon  myself  to  introduce  this  gentleman  to  Dauriat 
and  you  must  incline  his  ear  to  listen  to  us." 

'*  What  is  on  foot?  "  asked  Finot. 

"  A  volume  of  poetry,"  said  Lucien. 

"Oh  !  "  said  Finot,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  Your  acquaintance  cannot  have  had  much  to  do  with  pub- 
lishers, or  he  would  have  hidden  his  manuscript  in  the  lone- 
liest spot  in  his  dwelling,"  remarked  Vernou,  looking  at 
Lucien  as  he  spoke. 

Just  at  that  moment  a  good-looking  young  man  came  into 
the  shop,  gave  a  hand  to  Finot  and  Lousteau,  and  nodded 
slightly  to  Vernou.  The  new-comer  was  Emile  Blondet,  who 
had  made  his  first  appearance  in  the  "Journal  des  Debats," 
with  articles  revealing  capacities  of  the  very  highest  order. 

"  Come  and  have  supper  with  us  at  midnight,  at  Florine's," 
said  Lousteau. 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  new-comer.  "  But  who  is  going  to 
be  there?" 

"  Oh,  Florine  and  Matifat  the  druggist,"  said  Lousteau, 
"  and  du  Bruel,  the  author  who  gave  Florine  the  part  in  which 
she  is  to  make  her  first  appearance,  a  little  old  fogey  named 
Cardot,  and  his  son-in-law  Camusot,  and  Finot,  and  Coralie, 
and " 

"  Does  your  druggist  do  things  properly?" 

**  He  will  not  give  us  doctored  wine,"  said  Lucien. 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  131 

"You  are  very  witty,  monsieur,"  Blondet  returned  gravely. 
"Is  he  coming,  Lousteau?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  we  shall  have  some  fun," 

Lucien  had  flushed  red  to  the  tips  of  his  ears.  Blondet 
tapped  on  the  window  above  Dauriat's  desk. 

"Is  your  business  likely  to  keep  you  long,  Dauriat?" 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  my  friend." 

"That's  right,"  says  Lousteau,  addressing  his  prot6g6. 
"That  young  fellow  is  hardly  any  older  than  you  are,  and  he 
is  on  the  '  Debats  ! '  He  is  one  of  the  princes  of  criticism. 
They  are  afraid  of  him,  Dauriat  will  fawn  upon  him,  and  then 
we  can  put  in  a  word  about  our  business  with  the  pasha  of 
vignettes  and  type.  Otherwise  we  might  have  waited  till 
eleven  o'clock  and  our  turn  would  not  have  come.  The 
crowd  of  people  waiting  to  speak  with  Dauriat  is  growing 
bigger  every  moment." 

Lucien  and  Lousteau  followed  Blondet,  Finot,  and  Vernou 
and  stood  in  a  knot  at  the  back  of  the  shop. 

"What  is  he  doing?"  asked  Blondet  of  the  head  clerk, 
who  rose  to  bid  him  good-evening. 

"  He  is  buying  a  weekly  newspaper.  He  wants  to  put  new 
life  into  it,  and  set  up  a  rival  to  the  '  Minerve '  and  the 
*  Conservateur  ; '  Eymery  has  rather  too  much  of  his  own  way 
in  the  *  Minerve  '  and  the  '  Conservateur  '  is  too  romantic." 

"  Is  he  going  to  pay  well  ?  " 

"Only  too  much — as  usual,"  said  the  cashier. 

Just  as  he  spoke  another  young  man  entered  ;  this  was  the 
writer  of  a  magnificent  novel  which  had  sold  very  rapidly 
and  met  with  the  greatest  possible  success.  Dauriat  was 
bringing  out  a  second  edition.  The  appearance  of  this  odd 
and  extraordinary  looking  being,  so  unmistakably  an  artist, 
made  a  deep  impression  on  Lucien's  mind. 

"That  is  Nathan,"  Lousteau  said  in  his  ear. 

Nathan,  then  in  the  prime  of  his  youth,  came  up  to  the 


132  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

group  of  journalists,  hat  in  hand ;  and  in  spite  of  his  look  of 
fierce  pride  he  was  almost  humble  to  Blondet,  whom  as  yet 
he  only  knew  by  sight.  Blondet  did  not  remove  his  hat, 
neither  did  Finot. 

**  Monsieur,  I  am  delighted  to  avail  myself  of  an  oppor- 
tunity yielded  by  chance " 

("He  is  so  nervous  that  he  is  committing  a  pleonasm," 
said  Felicien  in  an  aside  to  Lousteau.) 

"  To  give  expression  to  my  gratitude  for  the  splendid  re- 
view which  you  were  so  good  as  to  give  me  in  the  'Journal 
des  Debats.'     Half  the  success  of  my  book  is  owing  to  you." 

"No,  my  dear  fellow,  no,"  said  Blondet,  with  an  air  of 
patronage  scarcely  masked  by  good-nature.  "  You  have 
talent,  the  deuce  you  have,  and  I'm  delighted  to  know  you." 

**  Now  that  your  review  has  appeared,  I  shall  not  seem  to 
be  courting  power ;  we  can  feel  at  ease.  Will  you  do  me  the 
honor  and  the  pleasure  of  dining  with  me  to-morrow  ?  Finot 
is  coming.  Lousteau,  old  man,  you  will  not  refuse  me,  will 
you?"  added  Nathan,  shaking  Etienne  by  the  hand.  "Ah, 
you  are  on  the  way  to  a  great  future,  monsieur,"  he  added, 
turning  again  to  Blondet ;  "  you  will  carry  on  the  line  of 
Dussaults,  Fievdes,  and  Geoffrois !  Hoffmann  was  talking 
about  you  to  a  friend  of  mine,  Claud  Vignon,  his  pupil ;  he 
said  that  he  could  die  in  peace,  the  *  Journal  des  Debats ' 
would  live  for  ever.  They  ought  to  pay  you  tremendously 
well." 

"  A  hundred  francs  a  column,"  said  Blondet.  "  Poor  pay 
when  one  is  obliged  to  read  the  books,  and  read  a  hundred 
before  you  find  one  worth  interesting  yourself  in,  like  yours. 
Your  work  gave  me  pleasure,  upon  my  word." 

"And  brought  him  in  fifteen  hundred  francs,"  said  Lous- 
teau for  Lucien's  benefit. 

"But  you  write  political  articles,  don't  you?"  asked 
Nathan. 

"  Yes ;  now  and  again." 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PA  HIS.  133 

Lucien  felt  like  an  embryo  among  these  men  ;  he  had  ad- 
mired Nathan's  book,  he  had  reverenced  the  author  as  an 
immortal ;  Nathan's  abject  attitude  before  this  critic,  whose 
name  and  importance  were  both  unknown  to  him,  stupefied 
Lucien. 

"How  if  I  should  come  to  behave  as  he  does?"  he 
thought.  "  Is  a  man  obliged  to  part  with  his  self-respect? 
Pray  put  on  your  hat  again,  Nathan  ;  you  have  written  a 
wonderfully  great  book  and  the  critic  has  only  written  a  re- 
view of  it." 

These  thoughts  set  the  blood  tingling  in  his  veins.  Scarce 
a  minute  passed  but  some  young  author,  poverty-stricken  and 
shy,  came  in,  asked  to  speak  with  Dauriat,  looked  round  the 
crowded  shop  despairingly,  and  went  out  saying,  **  I  will 
come  back  again."  Two  or  three  politicians  were  chatting 
over  the  convocation  of  the  Chambers  and  public  business 
with  a  group  of  well-known  public  men.  The  weekly  news- 
paper for  which  Dauriat  was  in  treaty  was  licensed  to  treat  of 
matters  political,  and  the  number  of  newspapers  suffered  to 
exist  was  growing  smaller  and  smaller,  till  a  paper  was  a  piece 
of  property  as  much  in  demand  as  a  theatre.  One  of  the 
largest  shareholders  in  the  "  Constitutionnel "  was  standing 
in  the  midst  of  the  knot  of  political  celebrities.  Lousteau 
performed  the  part  of  cicerone  to  admiration  ;  with  every 
sentence  he  uttered  Dauriat  rose  higher  in  Lucien's  opinion. 
Politics  and  literature  seemed  to  converge  in  Dauriat's  shop. 
He  had  seen  a  great  poet  prostituting  his  muse  to  journalism, 
humiliating  art,  as  woman  was  humiliated  and  prostituted  in 
those  shameless  galleries  without,  and  the  provincial  took  a 
terrible  lesson  to  heart.  Money !  That  was  the  key  to  every 
enigma.  Lucien  realized  the  fact  that  he  was  unknown  and 
alone,  and  that  the  fragile  clue  of  an  uncertain  friendship  was 
his  sole  guide  to  success  and  fortune.  He  blamed  the  kind 
and  loyal  little  circle  for  painting  the  world  for  him  in  false 
colors,  for  preventing  him  from  plunging  into  the  arena,  pen 


184  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

in  hand.  "  I  should  be  a  Blondet  at  this  moment !  "  he  ex- 
claimed within  himself. 

Only  a  little  while  ago  they  had  sat  looking  out  over  Paris 
from  the  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg,  and  Lousteau  had  ut- 
tered the  cry  of  a  wounded  eagle  ;  then  Lousteau  had  been  a 
great  man  in  Lucien's  eyes,  and  now  he  had  shrunk  to  scarce 
visible  proportions.  The  really  important  man  for  him  at 
this  moment  was  the  fashionable  bookseller,  by  whom  all 
these  men  lived  ',  and  the  poet,  manuscript  in  hand,  felt  a 
nervous  tremor  that  was  almost  like  fear.  He  noticed  a  group 
of  busts  mounted  on  wooden  pedestals,  painted  to  resemble 
marble ;  Byron  stood  there,  and  Goethe  and  M.  de  Canalis. 
Dauriat  was  hoping  to  publish  a  volume  by  the  last-named 
poet,  who  might  see,  on  his  entrance  into  the  shop,  the  esti- 
mation in  which  he  was  held  by  the  trade.  Unconsciously 
Lucien's  own  self-esteem  began  to  shrink,  and  his  courage 
ebbed.  He  began  to  see  how  large  a  part  this  Dauriat  would 
play  in  his  destinies,  and  waited  impatiently  for  him  to  ap- 
pear. 

"Well,  children,"  said  a  voice,  and  a  short,  stout  man  ap- 
peared, with  a  puffy  face  that  suggested  a  Roman  proconsul's 
visage,  mellowed  by  an  air  of  good-nature  which  deceived 
superficial  observers.  **  Well,  children,  here  am  I,  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  only  weekly  paper  in  the  market,  a  paper  with 
two  thousand  subscribers  !  " 

"  Old  joker  !  The  registered  number  is  seven  hundred, 
and  that  is  over  the  mark,"  said  Blondet. 

**  Twelve  hundred,  on  my  most  sacred  word  of  honor.  I 
said  two  thousand  for  the  benefit  of  the  printers  and  paper- 
dealers  yonder,"  he  added,  lowering  his  voice,  then  raising  it 
again.     "  I  thought  you  had  more  tact,  my  boy,"  he  added. 

**  Are  you  going  to  take  any  partners  ?  "  inquired  Finot. 

"That  depends,"  said  Dauriat.  "Will  you  take  a  third  at 
forty  thousand  francs  ?  " 

"  It's  a  bargain,  if  you  will  take  Emile  Blondet  here  on  the 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  135 

<r 

Staff,  and  Claud  Vignon,  Scribe,  Theodore  Leclercq,  Felicien 
Vernou,  Jay,  Jouy,  Lousteau,  and " 

"And  why  not  Lucien  de  Rubempr^?"  the  provincial 
poet  put  in  boldly. 

"  and  Nathan,"  concluded  Finot. 

"Why  not  the  people  out  there  in  the  street?"  asked 
Dauriat,  scowling  at  the  author  of  the  **  Marguerites."  "  To 
whom  have  I  the  honor  of  speaking?"  he  added,  with  an 
insolent  glance. 

*'  One  moment,  Dauriat,"  said  Lousteau.  **  I  have  brought 
this  gentleman  to  you.  Listen  to  me,  while  Finot  is  thinking 
over  your  proposals." 

Lucien  watched  this  Dauriat,  who  addressed  Finot  with  the 
familiar  tu,  which  even  Finot  did  not  permit  himself  to  use  in 
reply;  who  called  the  redoubtable  Blondet  "my  boy,"  and 
extended  a  hand  royally  to  Nathan  with  a  friendly  nod.  The 
provincial  poet  felt  his  shirt  wet  with  perspiration  when  the 
formidable  sultan  looked  indifferent  and  ill-pleased. 

"  Another  piece  of  business,  my  boy  !  "  exclaimed  Dauriat. 
"  Why,  I  have  eleven  hundred  manuscripts  on  hand,  as  you 
know !  Yes,  gentlemen,  I  have  eleven  hundred  manuscripts 
submitted  to  me  at  this  moment ;  ask  Gabusson.  I  shall 
soon  be  obliged  to  start  a  department  to  keep  account  of  the 
stock  of  manuscripts,  and  a  special  office  for  reading  them, 
and  a  committee  to  vote  on  their  merits,  with  numbered 
counters  for  those  who  attend,  and  a  permanent  secretary  to 
draw  up  the  minutes  for  me.  It  will  be  a  kind  of  local  branch 
of  the  Academic,  and  the  academiciens  will  be  better  paid  in 
the  Wooden  Galleries  than  at  the  Institute." 

"  'Tis  an  idea,"  said  Blondet. 

"A  bad  idea,"  returned  Dauriat.  " It  is  not  my  business 
to  take  stock  of  the  lucubrations  of  those  among  you  who 
take  to  literature  because  they  cannot  be  capitalists,  and  there 
is  no  opening  for  them  as  bootmakers,  nor  corporals,  nor 
domestic  servants,  nor  officials,  nor  bailiffs.     Nobody  comes 


136  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

here  until  he  has  made  a  name  for  himself!  Make  a  name 
for  yourself  and  you  will  find  gold  in  torrents.  I  have  made 
three  great  men  in  the  last  two  years ;  and  lo  and  behold 
three  examples  of  ingratitude!  Here  is  Nathan  talking  of 
six  thousand  francs  for  the  second  edition  of  his  book,  which 
cost  me  three  thousand  francs  in  reviews  and  has  not  brought 
in  a  thousand  yet.  I  paid  a  thousand  francs  for  Blondet's 
two  articles,  beside  a  dinner,  which  cost  me  at  least  five 
hundred " 

"But  if  all  booksellers  talked  as  you  do,  sir,  how  could  a 
man  publish  his  first  book  at  all?"  asked  Lucien.  Blondet 
had  gone  down  tremendously  in  his  opinion  since  he  had 
heard  the  amount  given  by  Dauriat  for  the  articles  in  the 
"Debats." 

"  That  is  not  my  affair,"  said  Dauriat,  looking  daggers  at 
this  handsome  young  fellow,  who  was  smiling  pleasantly  at 
him.  "  I  do  not  publish  books  for  amusement,  nor  risk  two 
thousand  francs  for  the  sake  of  seeing  my  money  back  again. 
I  speculate  in  literature,  and  publish  forty  volumes  of  ten 
thousand  copies  each,  just  as  Panckouke  does  and  the  Bau- 
doins.  With  my  influence  and  the  articles  which  I  secure,  I 
can  push  a  business  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns,  instead  of 
a  single  volume  involving  a  couple  of  thousand  francs.  It  is 
just  as  much  trouble  to  bring  out  a  new  name  and  to  induce 
the  public  to  take  up  an  author  and  his  book,  as  to  make  a 
success  with  the  '  Theatres  etrangers,  Victoires  et  Conqudtes,' 
or  *  M6moires  sur  la  Revolution,'  books  that  bring  in  a  for- 
tune. I  am  not  here  as  a  stepping-stone  to  future  fame,  but 
to  make  money  and  to  find  it  for  men  with  distinguished 
names.  The  manuscripts  for  which  I  give  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  pay  me  better  than  work  by  an  unknown  author  who 
asks  six  hundred.  If  I  am  not  exactly  a  Maecenas,  I  deserve 
the  gratitude  of  literature  ;  I  have  doubled  the  prices  of  man- 
uscripts. I  am  giving  you  this  explanation  because  you  are  a 
friend  of  Lousteau's,  my  boy,"  added  Dauriat,  clapping  Lu- 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  137 

*• 
cien  on  the  shoulder  with  odious  familiarity.     **  If  I  were  to 

talk  to  all  the  authors  who  have  a  mind  that  I  should  be 

their  publisher,  I  should  have  to  shut  up  shop  ;  I  should. pass 

my  time  very  agreeably  no  doubt,  but  the  conversations  would 

cost  too  much.     I  am  not  rich  enough  yet  to  listen  to  all  the 

monologues  of  self-conceit.     Nobody  does,  except  in  classical 

tragedies  on  the  stage." 

The  terrible  Dauriat's  gorgeous  raiment  seemed  in  the  pro- 
vincial poet's  eyes  to  add  force  to  the  man's  remorseless 
logic. 

"What  is  it  about?"  he  continued,  addressing  Lucien's 
protector. 

"  It  is  a  volume  of  magnificent  poetry." 

At  that  word,  Dauriat  turned  to  Gabusson  with  a  gesture 
worthy  of  Talma. 

"  Gabusson,  my  friend,"  he  said,  **  from  this  day  forward, 
when  anybody  begins  to  talk  of  works  in  manuscript  here. 
Do  you  hear  that,  all  of  you?"  he  broke  in  upon  himself; 
and  three  assistants  at  once  emerged  from  among  the  piles  of 
books  at  the  sound  of  their  employer's  wrathful  voice.  "  If 
anybody  comes  here  with  manuscripts,"  he  continued,  look- 
ing at  the  finger-nails  of  a  well-kept  hand,  "  ask  him  whether 
it  is  poetry  or  prose ;  and  if  he  says  poetry,  show  him  the 
door  at  once.     Verses  mean  reverses  in  the  booktrade." 

"Bravo!  well  put,  Dauriat,"  cried  the  chorus  of  jour- 
nalists. 

"It  is  true !  "  cried  the  bookseller,  striding  about  his  shop 
with  Lucien's  manuscript  in  his  hand.  **  You  have  no  idea, 
gentlemen,  of  the  amount  of  harm  that  Byron,  Lamartine, 
Victor  Hugo,  Casimir  Delavigne,  Canalis,  and  Beranger  have 
done  by  their  success.  The  fame  of  them  has  brought  down 
an  invasion  of  barbarians  upon  us.  I  know  this :  there  are  a 
thousand  volumes  of  manuscript  poetry  going  the  round  of 
the  publishers  at  this  moment,  things  that  nobody  can  make 
head  or  tail  of,  stories  in  verse  that  begin  in  the  middle,  like 


138  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

*The  Corsair'  and  'Lara.'  They  set  up  to  be  original, 
forsooth,  and  indulge  in  stanzas  that  nobody  can  understand, 
and  descriptive  poetry  after  the  pattern  of  the  younger  men 
who  discovered  Delille,  and  imagine  that  they  are  doing 
something  new.  Poets  have  been  swarming  like  cockroaches 
for  two  years  past.  I  have  lost  twenty  thousand  francs 
through  poetry  in  the  last  twelvemonth.  You  ask  Gabusson ! 
There  may  be  immortal  poets  somewhere  in  the  world ;  I 
know  of  some  that  are  blooming  and  rosy  and  have  no  beards 
on  their  chins  as  yet,"  he  continued,  looking  at  Lucien;  "but 
in  the  trade,  young  man,  there  are  only  four  poets — Beranger, 
Casimir  Delavigne,  Laraartine,  and  Victor  Hugo ;  as  for 
Canalis — he  is  a  poet  made  by  sheer  force  of  writing  him  up." 

Lucien  felt  that  he  lacked  the  courage  to  hold  up  his  head 
and  show  his  spirit  before  all  these  influential  persons,  who 
were  laughing  with  all  their  might.  He  knew  very  well  that 
he  should  look  hopelessly  ridiculous,  and  yet  he  felt  con- 
sumed by  a  fierce  desire  to  catch  the  bookseller  by  the  throat, 
to  rufiie  the  insolent  composure  of  his  cravat,  to  break  the 
gold  chain  that  glittered  on  the  man's  chest,  trample  his  watch 
under  his  feet,  and  tear  him  in  pieces.  Mortified  vanity 
opened  the  door  to  thoughts  of  vengeance,  and  inwardly  he 
swore  eternal  enmity  to  that  bookseller.  But  he  smiled 
amiably. 

"  Poetry  is  like  the  sun,"  said  Blondet,  "  giving  life  alike  to 
primeval  forests  and  to  ants  and  gnats  and  mosquitoes.  There 
is  no  virtue  but  has  a  vice  to  match,  and  literature  breeds  the 
publisher." 

"And  the  journalist,"  said  Lousteau. 

Dauriat  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  is  this,  after  all  ?  "  he  asked,  holding  up  the  manu- 
script. 

"A  volume  of  sonnets  that  will  put  Petrarch  to  the  blush," 
said  Lousteau. 

**  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  139 

"Just  what  I  say,"  answered  Lousteau,  seeing  the  knowing 
smile  that  went  round  the  group.  Lucien  could  not  take 
offense,  but  he  chafed  inwardly. 

**  Very  well,  I  will  read  them,"  said  Dauriat,  with  a  regal 
gesture  that  marked  the  full  extent  of  the  concession.  "  If 
these  sonnets  of  yours  are  up  to  the  level  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  I  will  make  a  great  poet  of  you,  my  boy." 

"If  he  has  brains  to  equal  his  good  looks,  you  will  run  no 
great  risks,"  remarked  one  of  the  greatest  public  speakers  of 
the  day,  a  deputy  who  was  chatting  with  the  editor  of  the 
**  Minerve,"  and  a  writer  for  the  "  Constitutionnel." 

"  Fame  means  twelve  thousand  francs  in  reviews,  and  a 
thousand  more  for  dinners,  general,"  said  Dauriat.  "If 
Monsieur  Benjamin  de  Constant  means  to  write  a  paper  on 
this  young  poet,  it  will  not  be  long  before  I  make  a  bargain 
with  him." 

At  the  title  of  general  and  the  distinguished  name  of  Ben- 
jamin Constant,  the  bookseller's  shop  took  the  proportions  of 
Olympus  for  the  provincial  great  man. 

"  Lousteau,  I  want  a  word  with  you,"  said  Finot;  "but  I 
shall  see  you  again  later,  at  the  theatre.  Dauriat,  I  will 
take  your  offer,  but  on  conditions.  Let  us  step  into  your 
office." 

"Come  in,  my  boy,"  answered  Dauriat,  allowing  Finot  to 
pass  before  him.  Then,  intimating  to  some  ten  persons  still 
waiting  for  him  that  he  was  engaged,  he  likewise  was  about  to 
disappear  when  Lucien  impatiently  stopped  him. 

"You  are  keeping  my  manuscript.  When  shall  I  have  an 
answer  ? ' ' 

"  Oh,  come  back  in  three  or  four  days,  my  little  poet,  and 
we  will  see." 

Lousteau  hurried  Lucien  away ;  he  had  not  time  to  take 
leave  of  Vernou  and  Blondet  and  Raoul  Nathan,  nor  to  salute 
General  Foy  nor  Benjamin  Constant,  whose  book  on  the 
Hundred  Days  was  just  about  to  appear.     Lucien  scarcely 


140  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

caught  a  glimpse  of  fair  hair,  a  refined  oval-shaped  face,  keen 
eyes,  and  the  pleasant-looking  mouth  belonging  to  the  man 
who  had  played  the  part  of  a  Potemkin  to  Mme.  de  Stael  for 
twenty  years,  and  now  was  at  war  with  the  Bourbons,  as  he 
had  been  at  war  with  Napoleon.  He  was  destined  to  win  his 
cause  and  to  die  stricken  to  earth  by  his  victory. 

"  What  a  store  !  "  exclaimed  Lucien,  as  he  took  his  place 
in  the  cab  beside  Lousteau. 

"To  the  Panorama- Dramatique ;  look  sharp,  and  you  shall 
have  thirty  sous,"  Etienne  Lousteau  called  to  the  cabman. 
**  Dauriat  is  a  rascal  who  sells  books  to  the  amount  of  fifteen 
or  sixteen  hundred  thousand  francs  every  year.  He  is  a 
kind  of  minister  of  literature,"  Lousteau  continued.  His 
self-conceit  had  been  pleasantly  tickled,  and  he  was  showing 
off  before  Lucien.  "  Dauriat  is  just  as  grasping  as  Barbet, 
but  it  is  on  a  wholesale  scale.  Dauriat  can  be  civil  and  he  is 
generous,  but  he  has  a  great  opinion  of  himself;  as  for  his 
wit,  it  consists  in  a  faculty  for  picking  up  all  that  he  hears, 
and  his  shop  is  a  capital  place  to  frequent.  You  meet  all  the 
best  men  at  Dauriat's.  A  young  fellow  learns  more  there  in 
an  hour  than  by  poring  over  books  for  half-a-score  of  years. 
People  talk  over  articles  and  concoct  subjects  ;  you  make  the 
acquaintance  of  great  or  influential  people  who  may  be  use- 
ful to  you.  You  must  know  people  if  you  mean  to  get  on 
nowadays.  It  is  all  luck,  you  see.  And  as  for  sitting  by 
yourself  in  a  corner  alone  with  your  intellect,  it  is  the  most 
dangerous  thing  of  all." 

**  But  what  insolence  !  "  said  Lucien. 

** Pshaw!  we  all  of  us  laugh  at  Dauriat,"  said  Etienne. 
**  If  you  are  in  need  of  him,  he  tramples  upon  you ;  if  he 
has  need  of  the  'Journal  des  Debats,'  Emile  Blondet  sets 
him  spinning  like  a  top.  Oh,  if  you  take  to  literature,  you 
will  see  a  good  many  queer  things.  Well,  what  was  I  telling 
you,  eh?  " 

"  Yes,  you  were  right,"  said  Lucien.     "  My  experience  in 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  141 

that  store  was  even  more  painful  than  I  expected,  after  your 
programme." 

"Why  do  you  choose  to  suffer?  You  find  your  subject, 
you  wear  out  your  wits  over  it  with  toiling  at  night,  you 
throw  your  very  life  into  it ;  and  after  all  your  journeyings  in 
the  fields  of  thought,  the  monument  reared  with  your  life- 
blood  is  simply  a  good  or  a  bad  speculation  for  a  publisher. 
Your  work  will  sell  or  it  will  not  sell ;  and  therein,  for  them, 
lies  the  whole  question.  A  book  means  so  much  capital  to 
risk,  and,  the  better  the  book,  the  less  likely  it  is  to  sell.  A 
man  of  talent  rises  above  the  level  of  ordinary  heads ;  his 
success  varies  in  direct  ratio  with  the  time  required  for  his 
work  to  be  appreciated.  And  no  publisher  wants  to  wait. 
To-day's  book  must  be  sold  by  to-morrow.  Acting  on  this 
system,  publishers  and  booksellers  do  not  care  to  take  real 
literature,  books  that  call  for  the  high  praise  that  comes 
slowly." 

"  D'Arthez  was  right,"  exclaimed  Lucien. 

"Do  you  know  d'Arthez?"  asked  Lousteau.  "I  know 
of  no  more  dangerous  company  than  solitary  spirits  like  that 
fellow  yonder,  who  fancy  that  they  can  draw  the  world  after 
them.  All  of  us  begin  by  thinking  that  we  are  capable  of 
great  things ;  and  when  once  a  youthful  imagination  is  heated 
by  this  superstition,  the  candidate  for  posthumous  honors 
makes  no  attempt  to  move  the  world  while  such  moving  of 
the  world  is  both  possible  and  profitable ;  he  lets  the  time  go 
by.  I  am  for  Mahomet's  system — if  the  mountain  does  not 
come  to  me,  I  am  for  going  to  the  mountain." 

The  commonsense  so  trenchantly  put  in  this  sally  left  Lu- 
cien halting  between  the  resignation  preached  by  the  brother- 
hood and  Lousteau's  militant  doctrine.  He  said  not  a  word 
until  they  reached  the  Boulevard  du  Temple. 

The  Panorama-Dramatique  no  longer  exists.  A  dwelling- 
house  stands  on  the  sight  of  the  once  charming  theatre  in 
the  Boulevard  du  Temple,  where  two  successive  managements  "• 


142  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

collapsed  without  making  a  single  hit ;  and  yet  Vignol,  who 
has  since  fallen  heir  to  some  of  Potiei's  popularity,  made  his 
debut  there ;  and  Florine,  five  years  later  a  celebrated  actress, 
made  her  first  appearance  in  the  theatre  opposite  the  Rue 
Chariot.  Play-houses,  like  men,  have  their  vicissitudes. 
The  Panorama-Dramatique  suffered  from  competition.  The 
machinations  of  its  rivals,  the  Ambigu,  the  Gaite,  the  Porte 
Saint-Martin,  and  the  Vaudeville,  together  with  a  plethora  of 
restrictions  and  a  scarcity  of  good  plays,  combined  to  bring 
about  the  downfall  of  the  house.  No  dramatic  author  cared 
to  quarrel  with  a  prosperous  theatre  for  the  sake  of  the  Pan- 
orama-Dramatique, whose  existence  was,  to  say  the  least, 
problematical.  The  management  at  this  moment,  however, 
was  counting  on  the  success  of  a  new  melodramatic  comedy 
by  M,  du  Bruel,  a  young  author  who,  after  working  in  col- 
laboration with  divers  celebrities,  had  now  produced  a  piece 
professedly  entirely  his  own.  It  had  been  specially  composed 
for  the  leading  lady,  a  young  actress  who  began  her  stage 
career  as  a  supernumerary  at  the  Gaite,  and  had  been  pro- 
moted to  small  parts  for  the  last  twelvemonth.  But  though 
Mile.  Florine's  acting  had  attracted  some  attention  she  ob- 
tained no  engagement,  and  the  Panorama  accordingly  had 
carried  her  off.  Coralie,  another  actress,  was  to  make  her 
debut  at  the  same  time. 

Lucien  was  amazed  at  the  power  wielded  by  the  press. 
"This  gentleman  is  with  me,"  said  Etienne  Lousteau,  and 
the  box-office  clerks  bowed  before  him  as  one  man. 

"You  will  find  it  no  easy  matter  to  get  seats,"  said  the 
head  clerk.     "  There  is  nothing  left  now  but  the  stage-box." 

A  certain  amount  of  time  was  wasted  in  controversies,  with 
the  box-keepers  in  the  lobbies,  when  Etienne  said,  "Let  us 
go  behind  the  scenes ;  we  will  speak  to  the  manager,  he  will 
take  us  into  the  stage-box ;  and,  beside,  I  will  introduce  you 
to  Florine,  the  heroine  of  the  evening." 

At  a  sign  from  Etienne  Lousteau,  the  doorkeeper  of  the 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  143 

orchestra  took  out  a  little  key  and  unlocked  a  door  in  the 
thickness  of  the  wall.  Lucien,  following  his  friend,  went  sud- 
denly out  of  the  lighted  corridor  into  the  black  darkness  of 
the  passage  between  the  house  and  the  wings.  A  short  flight  of 
damp  steps  surmounted,  one  of  the  strangest  of  all  spectacles 
opened  out  before  the  provincial  poet's  eyes.  The  height  of 
the  roof,  the  slenderness  of  the  props,  the  ladders  hung  with 
argand  lamps,  the  atrocious  ugliness  of  scenery  beheld  at 
close  quarters,  the  thick  paint  on  the  actors'  faces,  and  their 
outlandish  costumes,  made  of  such  coarse  materials,  the  stage 
carpenters  in  greasy  jackets,  the  firemen,  the  stage-manager 
strutting  about  with  his  hat  on  his  head,  the  supernumeraries 
sitting  among  the  hanging  back-scenes,  the  ropes  and  pulleys, 
the  heterogeneous  collection  of  absurdities,  shabby,  dirty,  hid- 
eous, and  gaudy,  was  something  so  altogether  different  from 
the  stage  seen  over  the  footlights  that  Lucien's  astonishment 
knew  no  bounds.  The  curtain  was  just  about  to  fall  on  a 
good  old-fashioned  melodrama  entitled  **  Bertram,"  a  play 
adapted  from  a  tragedy  by  Maturin  which  Charles  Nodier, 
together  with  Byron  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  held  in  the  highest 
esteem,  though  the  play  was  a  conspicuous  failure  on  the  stage 
in  Paris. 

"  Keep  a  tight  hold  of  my  arm,  unless  you  have  a  mind  to 
fall  through  a  trap-door  or  bring  down  a  forest  on  your  head  ; 
you  will  pull  down  a  palace,  or  carry  off  a  cottage,  if  you 
are  not  careful,"  said  Etienne.  "Is  Florine  in  her  dressing- 
room,  my  pet?"  he  added,  addressing  an  actress  who  stood 
waiting  for  her  cue. 

*'  Yes,  love.  Thank  you  for  the  things  you  said  about  me. 
You  are  much  nicer  since  Florine  has  come  here." 

**Come,  don't  spoil  your  entry,  little  one.  Quick  with 
you,  look  sharp,  and  say,  '  Stop,  wretched  man  1 '  nicely,  for 
there  are  two  thousand  francs  of  takings." 

Lucien  was  struck  with  amazement  when  the  girl's  whole 
face  suddenly  changed,  and  she  shrieked,  "Stop,  wretched 


144  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

man  !  "  a  cry  that  froze  the  blood  in  your  veins.  She  was  no 
longer  the  same  creature. 

**  So  this  is  the  stage,"  he  said  to  Lousteau. 

"It  is  like  the  bookseller's  store  in  the  Wooden  Galleries, 
or  a  literary  paper,"  said  Etienne  Lousteau;  "  it  is  a  kitchen, 
neither  more  nor  less." 

Nathan  appeared  at  this  moment. 

"What  brings  you  here?"  inquired  Lousteau. 

"Why,  I  am  doing  the  minor  theatres  for  the  *  Gazette  *  until 
something  better  turns  up." 

"  Oh  !  come  to  supper  with  us  this  evening;  speak  well  of 
Florine,  and  I  will  do  as  much  for  you." 

"Very  much  at  your  service,"  returned  Nathan. 

"You  know;  she  is  living  in  the  Rue  du  Bondy  now/' 
added  Etienne. 

"  Lousteau,  dear  boy,  who  is  the  handsome  young  man  that 
you  have  brought  with  you  ?"  asked  the  actress,  now  returned 
to  the  wings. 

"A  great  poet,  dear,  that  will  have  a  famous  name  one  of 
these  days.  Monsieur  Nathan,  I  must  introduce  Monsieur 
Lucien  de  Rubempr6  to  you,  as  your  are  to  meet  again  at 
supper. ' ' 

"  You  have  a  good  name,  monsieur,"  said  Nathan. 

"Lucien,  Monsieur  Raoul  Nathan,"  continued  Etienne. 

"  I  read  your  book  two  days  ago ;  and,  upon  my  word,  I 
cannot  understand  how  you,  who  have  written  such  a  book, 
and  such  poetry,  can  be  so  humble  to  a  journalist." 

"  Wait  until  your  first  book  comes  out,"  said  Nathan,  and 
a  shrewd  smile  flitted  over  his  face. 

"  I  say  !  I  say  !  here  are  Ultras  and  Liberals  actually  shaking 
hands  !  "  cried  Vernou,  spying  the  trio. 

"In  the  morning  I  hold  the  views  of  my  paper,"  said 
Nathan;  "  in  the  evening  I  think  as  I  please;  all  journalists 
see  double  at  night." 

F61icien  Vernou  turned  to  Lousteau. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  145 

**Finot  is  looking  for  you,  Etienne  j  he  came  with  me,  and 
— here  he  is." 

•'Ah,  by-the-by,  there  is  not  a  place  in  the  house,  is 
there?"  asked  Finot. 

"You  will  always  find  a  place  in  our  hearts,"  said  the 
actress,  with  the  sweetest  smile  imaginable. 

"  I  say,  my  little  Florville,  are  you  cured  already  of  your 
fancy?  They  told  me  that  a  Russian  prince  had  carried  you 
off." 

"Who  carries  off  women  in  these  days?"  said  Florville 
(she  who  had  cried,  "  Stop,  wretched  man  !  ")  "  We  stayed 
at  Saint-Mande  for  ten  days,  and  my  prince  got  off  with  pay- 
ing the  forfeit-money  to  the  management.  The  manager  will 
go  down  on  his  knees  to  pray  for  some  more  Russian  princes," 
Florville  continued,  laughing;  "the  forfeit-money  was  so 
much  clear  gain." 

"And  as  for  you,  child,"  said  Finot,  turning  to  a  pretty 
girl  in  a  peasant's  costume,  "where  did  you  steal  these  dia- 
mond ear-drops  ?     Have  you  hooked  an  Indian  prince  ? ' ' 

"No,  a  blacking  manufacturer,  an  Englishman,  who  has 
gone  off  already.  It  is  not  everybody  who  can  find  million- 
aire storekeepers,  tired  of  domestic  life,  whenever  they  like, 
as  Florine  does  and  Coralie.     Aren't  they  just  lucky?" 

"Florville,  you  will  make  a  bad  entry,"  said  Lousteau; 
"  the  blacking  has  gone  to  your  head  !  " 

"  If  you  want  a  success,"  said  Nathan,  "  instead  of  scream- 
ing, '  He  is  saved  !  '  like  a  Fury,  walk  on  quite  quietly,  go  to 
the  staircase,  and  say,  '  He  is  saved,'  in  a  chest  voice,  like 
Pasta's  'O  patria'  in  'Tancredi.*  There,  go  along!"  and 
he  pushed  her  toward  the  stage. 

"It  is  too  late,"  said  Vernou,  "the  effect  has  hung  fire." 

"What  did  she  do?  the  house  is  applauding  like  mad," 
asked  Lousteau. 

"  Went  down  on  her  knees  and  showed  her  bosom  ;  that  is 
her  great  resource,"  said  the  blacking-maker's  widow. 
10 


146  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"  The  manager  is  giving  up  the  stage-box  to  us ;  you  will 
find  me  there  when  you  come,"  said  Finot,  as  Lousteau 
walked  off  with  Lucien. 

At  the  back  of  the  stage,  through  a  labyrinth  of  scenery 
and  corridors,  the  pair  climbed  several  flights  of  stairs  and 
reached  a  little  room  on  a  third  floor,  Nathan  and  F6licien 
Vernou  following  them. 

"Good-day  or  good-night,  gentlemen,"  said  Florine. 
Then,  turning  to  a  short,  stout  man  standing  in  a  corner, 
"These  gentlemen  are  the  rulers  of  my  destiny,"  she  said, 
"my  future  is  in  their  hands;  but  they  will  be  under  our 
table  to-morrow  morning,  I  hope,  if  Monsieur  Lousteau  has 
forgotten  nothing " 

"  Forgotten  !  You  are  going  to  have  Blondet  of  the 
*  D6bats,'  "  said  Etienne,  "  the  genuine  Blondet,  the  very 
Blondet — Blondet  himself,  in  short." 

"  Oh  !  Lousteau,  you  dear  boy !  stop,  I  must  give  you  a 
kiss,"  and  she  flung  her  arms  about  the  journalist's  neck. 
Matifat,  the  stout  person  in  the  corner,  looked  serious  at  this. 

Florine  was  thin  ;  her  beauty,  like  a  bud,  gave  promise  of 
the  flower  to  come ;  the  girl  of  sixteen  could  only  delight  the 
eyes  of  artists  who  prefer  the  sketch  to  the  picture.  All  the 
quick  subtlety  of  her  character  was  visible  in  the  features  of 
the  charming  actress,  who  at  that  time  might  have  sat  for 
Goethe's  Mignon.  Matifat,  a  wealthy  druggist  of  the  Rue 
des  Lombards,  had  imagined  that  a  little  boulevard  actress 
would  have  no  very  expensive  tastes,  but  in  eleven  months 
Florine  had  cost  him  sixty  thousand  francs.  Nothing  seemed 
more  extraordinary  to  Lucien  than  the  sight  of  an  honest  and 
worthy  merchant  standing  like  a  statue  of  the  god  Terminus 
in  the  actress'  narrow  dressing-room,  a  tiny  place  some  ten 
feet  square,  hung  with  a  pretty  wall-paper,  and  adorned  with  a 
full-length  mirror,  a  sofa,  and  two  chairs.  There  was  a  fire- 
place in  the  dressing-closet,  a  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  cup- 
boards all  round  the  room.     A  dresser  was  putting  the  finish- 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  147 

ing  touches  to  a  Spanish  costume ;  for  Florine  was  to  take  the 
part  of  a  countess  in  an  imbroglio. 

"That  girl  will  be  the  handsomest  actress  in  Paris  in  five 
years'  time,"  said  Nathan,  turning  to  Felicien  Vernou. 

**  By-the-by,  darlings,  you  will  take  care  of  me  to-morrow, 
won't  you?"  said  Florine,  turning  to  the  three  journalists. 
"  I  have  engaged  cabs  for  to-night,  for  I  am  going  to  send 
you  home  as  tipsy  as  Shrove  Tuesday.  Matifat  has  sent  in 
wines — oh  !  wines  worthy  of  Louis  XVIII. ,  and  engaged  the 
Prussian  ambassador's  cook." 

"  We  expect  something  enormous  from  the  look  of  the 
gentleman,"  remarked  Nathan. 

"And  he  is  quite  aware  that  he  is  treating  the  most  dan- 
gerous men  in  Paris,"  added  Florine. 

Matifat  was  looking  uneasily  at  Lucien ;  he  felt  jealous  of 
the  young  man's  good  looks. 

*'  But  here  is  some  one  that  I  do  not  know,"  Florine  con- 
tinued, confronting  Lucien.  "Which  of  you  has  imported 
the  Apollo  Belvedere  from  Florence  ?  He  is  as  charming  as 
one  of  Girodet's  figures." 

"He  is  a  poet,  mademoiselle,  from  the  provinces.  I 
forgot  to  present  him  to  you;  you  are  so  beautiful  to-night 
that  you  put  the  *  Complete  Guide  to  Etiquette '  out  of  a 
man's  head " 

"Is  he  so  rich  that  he  can  afford  to  write  poetry?  "  asked 
Florine. 

"Poor  as  Job,"  said  Lucien. 

"  It  is  a  great  temptation  for  some  of  us,"  said  the  actress. 

Just  then  the  author  of  the  play  suddenly  entered,  and 
Lucien  beheld  Monsieur  du  Bruel,  a  short,  attenuated  young 
man  in  an  overcoat,  a  composite  human  blend  of  the  jack-in- 
oflfice,  the  owner  of  house  property,  and  the  stockbroker. 

"Florine,  child,"  said  this  personage,  "are  you  sure  of 
your  part,  eh  ?  No  slips  of  memory,  you  know.  And  mind 
that  scene  in  the  second  act,  make  the  irony  tell,  bring  out 


148  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

that  subtle  touch ;  say  *  I  do  not  love  you '  just  as  we 
agreed." 

**  Why  do  you  take  parts  in  which  you  have  to  say  such 
things?"  asked  Matifat. 

The  druggist's  remark  was  received  with  a  general  shout  of 
laughter. 

"What  does  it  matter  to  you,"  said  Florine,  "so  long 
as  I  don't  say  such  things  to  you,  great  stupid?  Oh!  his 
stupidity  is  the  pleasure  of  my  life,"  she  continued, 
glancing  at  the  journalists.  "Upon  my  word,  I  would  pay 
him  so  much  for  every  blunder,  if  it  would  not  be  the  ruin 
of  me." 

"  Yes,  but  you  will  look  at  me  when  you  say  it,  as  you  do 
when  you  are  rehearsing,  and  it  gives  me  a  turn,"  remonstrated 
the  druggist. 

"Very  well,  then,  I  will  look  at  my  friend  Loustean 
here." 

A  bell  rang  outside  in  the  passage. 

"Go  out,  all  of  you!  "  cried  Florine;  "let  me  read  my 
part  over  again  and  try  to  understand  it." 

Lucien  and  Lousteau  were  the  last  to  go.  Lousteau  set  a 
kiss  on  Florine's  shoulder,  and  Lucien  heard  her  say,  "Not 
to-night.  Impossible.  That  stupid  old  animal  told  his  wife 
that  he  was  going  out  into  the  country." 

"Isn't  she  very  charming?"  said  Etienne,  as  they  came 
away. 

"  But — but  that  Matifat,  my  dear  fellow " 

"Oh  I  you  know  nothing  of  Parisian  life,  my  boy.  Some 
things  cannot  be  helped.  Suppose  that  you  fell  in  love  with 
a  married  woman,  it  comes  to  the  same  thing.  It  all  depends 
on  the  way  that  you  look  at  it." 

Etienne  and  Lucien  entered  the  stage-box  and  found  the 
manager  there  with  Finot.  Matifat  was  in  the  first-floor  box 
exactly  opposite  with  a  friend  of  his,  a  silk  mercer  named 
Camusot  (Coralie's  protector),  and  a  worthy  little  old  soul. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  149 

his  father-in-law.  All  three  of  these  city  men  were  polishing 
their  opera-glasses,  and  anxiously  scanning  the  house  ;  certain 
symptoms  in  the  pit  appeared  to  disturb  them.  The  usual 
heterogeneous  first-night  elements  filled  the  boxes — ^journalists 
and  their  mistresses,  lorettes  and  their  lovers,  a  sprinkling  of 
the  determined  play-goers  who  never  miss  a  first  night  if  they 
can  help  it,  and  a  very  few  people  of  fashion  who  care  for 
this  sort  of  sensation.  The  first  box  was  occupied  by  the 
head  of  a  department,  to  whom  du  Bruel,  maker  of  vaude- 
villes, owed  a  snug  little  sinecure  in  the  treasury. 

Lucien  had  gone  from  surprise  to  surprise  since  the  dinner 
at  Flicoteaux's,  For  two  months  literature  had  meant  a  life 
of  poverty  and  want ;  in  Lousteau's  room  he  had  seen  it  at  its 
cynical  worst ;  in  the  Wooden  Galleries  he  had  met  literature 
abject  and  literature  insolent.  The  sharp  contrasts  of  heights 
and  depths ;  of  compromise  with  conscience  j  of  supreme 
power  and  want  of  principle  \  of  treachery  and  pleasure;  of 
mental  elevation  and  bondage — all  this  made  his  head  swim, 
he  seemed  to  be  watching  some  strange,  unheard-of  drama. 

Finot  was  talking  with  the  manager.  "  Do  you  think  du 
Bruel' s  piece  will  pay  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Du  Bruel  has  tried  to  do  something  in  Beaumarchais' 
style.  Boulevard  audiences  don't  care  for  that  kind  of  thing ; 
they  like  harrowing  sensations ;  wit  is  not  much  appreciated 
here.  Everything  depends  on  Florine  and  Coralie  to-night ; 
they  are  bewitchingly  pretty  and  graceful,  wear  very  short 
skirts,  and  dance  a  Spanish  dance,  and  possibly  they  may 
carry  off  the  piece  with  the  public.  The  whole  affair  is  a 
gambling  speculation.  A  few  clever  notices  in  the  papers  and 
I  may  make  a  hundred  thousand  crowns,  if  the  play  takes." 

*'  Oh  !  come,  it  will  only  be  a  moderate  success,  I  can  see," 
said  Finot. 

"  Three  of  the  theatres  have  hatched  a  plot,"  continued  the 
manager;  "  they  will  even  hiss  the  piece,  but  I  have  made 
arrangements  to  defeat  their  kind  intentions.     I  have  squared 


160  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

the  men  in  their  pay ;  they  will  make  a  muddle  of  it.  A 
couple  of  city  men  yonder  have  taken  a  hundred  tickets 
apiece  to  secure  a  triumph  for  Florine  and  Coralie  and  given 
them  to  acquaintances  able  and  ready  to  act  as  chuckers  out. 
The  fellows,  having  been  paid  twice,  will  go  quietly,  and  a 
scene  of  that  sort  always  makes  a  good  impression  on  the 
house." 

"  Two  hundred  tickets  !  What  invaluable  men  !  "  ex- 
claimed Finot. 

"Yes.  With  two  more  actresses  as  handsomely  kept  as 
Florine  and  Coralie,  I  should  make  something  out  of  the 
business." 

For  the  past  two  hours  the  word  money  had  been  sounding 
in  Lucien's  ears  as  the  solution  of  every  difficulty.  In  the  the- 
atre as  in  the  publishing  trade,  and  in  the  publishing  trade  as 
in  the  newspaper-office — it  was  everywhere  the  same;  there 
was  not  a  word  of  art  or  of  glory.  The  steady  beat  of  the  great 
pendulum.  Money,  seemed  to  fall  like  hammer-strokes  on  his 
heart  and  brain.  And  yet  while  the  orchestra  played  the 
overture,  while  the  pit  was  full  of  noisy  tumult  of  applause 
and  hisses,  unconsciously  he  drew  a  comparison  between  this 
scene  and  others  that  came  up  in  his  mind.  Visions  arose 
before  him  of  David  and  the  printing-office,  of  the  poetry 
that  he  came  to  know  in  that  atmosphere  of  pure  peace,  when 
together  they  beheld  the  wonders  of  art,  the  high  successes 
of  genius,  and  visions  of  glory  borne  on  stainless  wings.  He 
thought  of  the  evenings  spent  with  d'Arthez  and  his  friends 
and  tears  glittered  in  his  eyes. 

•*  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  asked  Etienne  Lousteau. 

"I  see  poetry  fallen  into  the  mire." 

"  Ah  '.you  have  still  some  illusions  left,  my  dear  fellow." 

"  Is  there  nothing  for  it  but  to  cringe  and  submit  to  thick- 
heads like  Matifat  and  Camusot,  as  actresses  bow  down  to 
journalists  and  we  ourselves  to  the  booksellers?  " 

"My  boy,  do  you  see  that  dull-brained  fellow?"  asked 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PA  HIS.  151 

Etienne,  lowering  his  voice,  and  glancing  at  Flnot.  "He 
has  neither  genius  nor  cleverness,  but  he  is  covetous ;  he 
means  to  make  a  fortune  at  all  costs,  and  he  is  a  keen  man 
of  business.  Didn't  you  see  how  he  made  forty  per  cent,  out 
of  me  at  Dauriat's,  and  talked  as  if  he  were  doing  me  a 
favor  ?  Well,  he  gets  letters  from  not  a  few  unknown  men 
of  genius  who  go  down  on  their  knees  to  him  for  a  hundred 
francs." 

The  words  recalled  the  pen-and-ink  sketch  that  lay  on  the 
table  in  the  editor's  office  and  the  words,  "  Finot,  my  hundred 
francs  !  "  Lucien's  inmost  soul  shrank  from  the  man  in  dis- 
gust. 

"  I  would  sooner  die,"  he  said.  ' 

"Sooner  live,"  retorted  Etienne. 

The  curtain  rose,  and  the  stage-manager  went  oflF  to  the 
wings  to  give  orders.     Finot  turned  to  Etienne. 

**  My  dear  fellow,  Dauriat  has  passed  his  word  ;  I  am  pro- 
prietor of  one-third  of  his  weekly  paper.  I  have  agreed 
to  give  thirty  thousand  francs  in  cash,  on  condition  that 
I  am  to  be  editor  and  director.  'Tis  a  splendid  thing. 
Blondet  told  me  that  the  government  intends  to  take  restrictive 
measures  against  the  press ;  there  will  be  no  new  papers 
allowed  ;  in  six  months'  time  it  will  cost  a  million  francs  to 
start  a  new  journal,  so  I  struck  the  bargain  though  I  have  only 
ten  thousand  francs  in  hand.  Listen  to  me.  If  you  can  sell 
one-half  of  my  share,  that  is  one-sixth  of  the  paper,  to  Matifat 
for  thirty  thousand  francs,  you  shall  be  editor  of  my  little 
paper  with  a  salary  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  francs  per 
month.  I  want,  in  any  case,  to  have  the  control  of  my  old 
paper  and  to  keep  my  hold  upon  it ;  but  nobody  need  know 
that,  and  your  name  will  appear  as  editor.  You  will  be  paid 
at  the  rate  of  five  francs  per  column  ;  you  need  not  pay  con- 
tributors more  than  three  francs,  and  you  keep  the  difference. 
That  means  another  four  hundred  and  fifty  francs  per  month. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  I  reserve  the  right  to  use  the  paper  to 


152  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PA  HIS. 

attack  or  defend  men  or  causes,  as  I  please ;  and  you  may  in- 
dulge your  own  likes  and  dislikes  so  long  as  you  do  not  in- 
terfere with  my  schemes.  Perhaps  I  may  be  a  Ministerialist, 
perhaps  Ultra,  I  do  not  know  yet ;  but  I  mean  to  keep  up  my 
connection  with  the  Liberal  party  (below  the  surface).  I  can 
speak  out  with  you ;  you  are  a  good  fellow.  I  might,  perhaps, 
give  you  the  Chambers  to  do  for  another  paper  on  which  I 
work ;  I  am  afraid  I  can  scarcely  keep  on  with  it  now.  So  let 
Florine  do  this  bit  of  jockeying ;  tell  her  to  put  the  screw  on 
her  druggist.  If  I  can't  find  the  money  within  forty-eight 
hours  I  must  cry  oflF  my  bargain.  Dauriat  sold  another  third 
to  his  printer  and  paper-dealer  for  thirty  thousand  francs ;  so 
he  has  his  own  third  gratis,  and  ten  thousand  francs  to  the 
good,  for  he  only  gave  fifty  thousand  for  the  whole  affair. 
And  in  another  year's  time  the  magazine  will  be  worth  two 
hundred  thousand  francs,  if  the  court  buys  it  up  ',  if  the 
court  has  the  good  sense  to  suppress  newspapers,  as  they  say." 

"You  are  lucky,"  said  Lousteau. 

**If  you  had  gone  through  all  that  I  have  endured,  you 
would  not  say  that  of  me.  I  had  my  fill  of  misery  in  those 
days,  you  see,  and  there  was  no  help  for  it.  My  father  is  a 
hatter ;  he  still  keeps  a  shop  in  the  Rue  de  Coq.  Nothing 
but  millions  of  money  or  a  social  cataclysm  can  open  out  the 
way  to  my  goal ;  and  of  the  two  alternatives,  I  don't  know 
now  that  the  revolution  is  not  the  easier.  If  I  bore  your 
friend's  name,  I  should  have  a  chance  to  get  on.  Hush,  here 
comes  the  manager.  Good-by,"  and  Finot  rose  to  his  feet. 
"  I  am  going  to  the  opera.  I  shall  very  likely  have  a  duel 
on  my  hands  to-morrow,  for  I  liave  put  my  initials  to  a  terrific 
attack  on  a  couple  of  dancers  under  the  protection  of  two 
generals.     I  am  giving  it  them  hot  and  strong  at  the  opera." 

"Aha?"  said  the  manager. 

"Yes.  They  are  stingy  with  me,"  returned  Finot,  "  now 
cutting  off  a  box  and  now  declining  to  take  fifty  subscriptions. 
I  have  sent  in  ray  ultiraatqrai  I  mei^n  to  have  a  hundred  sub- 


4^ROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  153 

scriptions  out  of  them  and  a  box  four  times  a  month.  If 
they  take  my  terms,  I  shall  have  eight  hundred  readers  and  a 
thousand  paying  subscribers ;  and  I  know  a  way  of  getting 
another  two  hundred  subscribers,  so  we  shall  have  twelve 
hundred  with  the  New  Year." 

"  You  will  end  by  ruining  us,"  said  the  manager. 

"K?«  are  not  much  hurt  with  your  ten  subscriptions.  I  had 
two  good  notices  put  in  the  '  Constitutionnel.*  " 

**  Oh  !  I  am  not  complaining  of  you,"  cried  the  obsequious 
manager. 

"  Good-by  till  to-morrow  evening,  Lousteau,"  said  Finot. 
"  You  can  give  me  your  answer  at  the  Frangais ;  there  is  a  new 
piece  on  there ;  and  as  I  shall  not  be  able  to  write  the  notice, 
you  can  take  my  box.  I  will  give  you  the  preference ;  you 
have  worked  yourself  to  death  for  me,  and  I  am  grateful. 
Felicien  Vernou  offered  twenty  thousand  francs  for  a  third 
share  of  my  little  paper,  and  to  work  without  salary  for  a 
twelvemonth  ;  but  I  want  to  be  absolute  master.     Good-by." 

"He  is  not  named  Finot"  {^finaud,  slyboots)  "for  noth- 
ing," said  Lucien. 

"  He  is  a  gallows-bird  that  will  get  on  in  the  world,"  said 
Etienne,  careless  whether  the  wily  schemer  overheard  the  re- 
mark or  not,  as  he  shut  the  door  of  the  box. 

"-^<f/"  said  the  manager.  "  He  will  be  a  millionaire ;  he 
will  enjoy  the  respect  of  all  who  know  him ;  he  may,  perhaps, 
have  friends  some  day " 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  a  den  !  "  said  Lucien.  "And  are 
you  going  to  drag  that  exquisite  creature  into  such  a  busi- 
ness?" he  continued,  looking  at  Florine,  who  gave  them 
side-glances  from  the  stage. 

"  She  will  carry  it  through  too.  You  do  not  know  the 
devotion  and  the  wiles  of  these  beloved  beings,"  said 
Lousteau. 

"  They  redeem  their  failings  and  expiate  all  their  sins  by 
boundless  love,  when  they  love,"  said  the  manager.    "  A  great 


154  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

love  is  all  the  grander  in  an  actress  by  reason  of  its  violent 
contrast  with  her  surroundings." 

"And  he  who  finds  it,  finds  a  diamond  worthy  of  the 
proudest  crown  lying  in  the  mud,"  returned  Lousteau. 

"  But  Coralie  is  not  attending  to  her  part,"  remarked  the 
manager.  "  Coralie  is  smitten  with  our  friend  here,  all  un- 
suspicious of  his  conquest,  and  Coralie  will  make  di  fiasco; 
she  is  missing  her  cues,  this  is  the  second  time  she  has  not 
heard  the  prompter.  Pray  go  into  the  corner,  monsieur,"  he 
continued.  "If  Coralie  is  smitten  with  you,  I  will  go  and 
tell  her  that  you  have  left  the  house." 

"  No  !  no  !  "  cried  Lousteau  ;  "  tell  Coralie  that  this  gen- 
tleman is  coming  to  supper  and  that  she  can  do  as  she  likes 
with  him,  and  she  will  play  like  Mademoiselle  Mars." 

The  manager  went,  and  Lucien  turned  to  Etienne.  "What! 
do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  will  ask  that  druggist,  through 
Mademoiselle  Florine,  to  pay  thirty  thousand  francs  for  one- 
half  a  share,  when  Finot  gave  no  more  for  the  whole  of  it  ? 
and  ask  without  the  slightest  scruple? " 

Lousteau  interrupted  Lucien  before  he  had  time  to  finish 
his  expostulation.  "  My  dear  boy,  what  country  can  you 
come  from  ?  The  druggist  is  not  a  man  ;  he  is  a  strong  box 
delivered  into  our  hands  by  his  fancy  for  an  actress." 

"  How  about  your  conscience  ?  " 

"  Conscience,  my  dear  fellow,  is  a  stick  which  every  one 
takes  up  to  beat  his  neighbor  and  not  for  application  to  his 
own  back.  Come,  now,  who  the  devil  are  you  angry 
with  ?  In  one  day  chance  has  worked  a  miracle  for  you,  a 
miracle  for  which  I  have  been  waiting  these  two  years,  and 
you  must  needs  amuse  yourself  by  finding  fault  with  the 
means  ?  What !  you  appear  to  me  to  possess  intelligence ; 
you  seem  to  be  in  a  fair  way  to  reach  that  freedom  from  prej- 
udice which  is  a  first  necessity  to  intellectual  adventurers  in 
the  world  we  live  in ;  and  are  you  wallowing  in  scruples 
worthy  of  a  nun  who  accuses  herself  of  eating  an  egg  with 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  165 

concupiscence  ?  If  Florine  succeeds,  I  shall  be  editor  of  a 
newspaper  with  a  fixed  salary  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  francs 
per  month ;  I  shall  take  the  important  plays  and  leave  the 
vaudevilles  to  Vernou,  and  you  can  take  my  place  and  do  the 
boulevard  theatres,  and  so  get  a  foot  in  the  stirrup.  You  will 
make  three  francs  per  column  and  write  a  column  a  day — 
thirty  columns  a  month  means  ninety  francs ;  you  will  have 
some  sixty  francs'  worth  of  books  to  sell  to  Barbet ;  and, 
lastly,  you  can  demand  ten  tickets  a  month  of  each  of  your 
theatres — that  is,  forty  tickets  in  all — and  sell  them  for  forty 
francs  to  a  Barbet  who  deals  in  them  (I  will  introduce  you  to 
the  man),  so  you  will  have  two  hundred  francs  coming  in 
every  month.  Then  if  you  make  yourself  useful  to  Finot, 
you  might  get  a  hundred  francs  for  an  article  in  this  new 
weekly  review  of  his,  in  which  case  you  should  show  un- 
common talent,  for  all  the  articles  are  signed,  and  you  cannot 
put  in  slipshod  work  as  you  can  on  a  small  paper.  In  that 
case  you  would  be  making  a  hundred  crowns  a  month.  Now, 
my  dear  boy,  there  are  men  of  ability,  like  that  poor  d'Arthez, 
who  dines  at  Flicoteaux's  every  day,  who  may  wait  for  ten 
years  before  they  will  make  a  hundred  crowns ;  and  you  will 
be  making  four  thousand  francs  a  year  by  your  pen,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  books  you  will  write  for  the  trade,  if  you  do 
work  of  that  kind. 

"  Now,  a  sub-prefect's  salary  only  amounts  to  a  thousand 
crowns,  and  there  he  stops  in  his  arrondissement,  wearing 
away  time  like  the  rung  of  a  chair.  I  say  nothing  of  the  pleas- 
ure of  going  to  the  theatre  without  paying  for  your  seat,  for 
that  is  a  delight  which  quickly  palls  ;  but  you  can  go  behind 
the  scenes  in  four  theatres.  Be  hard  and  sarcastic  for  a  month 
or  two,  and  you  will  be  simply  overwhelmed  with  invitations 
from  actresses  and  their  adorers  will  pay  court  to  you ;  you 
will  only  dine  at  Flicoteaux's  when  you  happen  to  have  less 
than  thirty  so^is  in  your  pocket  and  no  dinner  engagement. 
At  the  Luxembourg,  at  five  o'clock,  you  did  not  know  which 


156  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS, 

way  to  turn  ;  now,  you  are  on  the  eve  of  entering  a  privileged 
class,  you  will  be  one  of  the  hundred  persons  who  tell  France 
what  to  think.  In  three  days'  time,  if  all  goes  well,  you  can, 
if  you  choose,  make  a  man's  life  a  curse  to  him  by  putting 
thirty  jokes  at  his  expense  in  print  at  the  rate  of  three  a  day ; 
you  can,  if  you  choose,  draw  a  revenue  of  pleasure  from  the 
actresses  at  your  theatres ;  you  can  wreck  a  good  play  and 
send  all  Paris  running  after  a  bad  one.  If  Dauriat  declines  to 
pay  you  for  your  '  Marguerites,'  you  can  make  him  come  to 
you,  and  meekly  and  humbly  implore  you  to  take  two  thou- 
sand francs  for  them.  If  you  have  the  ability  and  knock  off 
two  or  three  articles  that  threaten  to  spoil  some  of  Dauriat' s 
speculations,  or  to  ruin  a  book  on  which  he  counts,  you  will 
see  him  come  climbing  up  your  stairs  like  a  clematis,  and 
always  at  the  door  of  your  dwelling.  As  for  your  novel,  the 
booksellers  who  would  show  you  more  or  less  politely  to  the 
door  at  this  moment  will  be  standing  outside  your  attic  in  a 
string,  and  the  value  of  the  manuscript,  which  old  Doguereau 
valued  at  four  hundred  francs,  will  rise  to  four  thousand. 
These  are  the  advantages  of  the  journalist's  profession.  So 
let  us  do  our  best  to  keep  all  new-comers  out  of  it.  It  needs 
an  immense  amount  of  brains  to  make  your  way  and  a  still 
greater  amount  of  luck.  And  here  are  you  quibbling  over 
your  good  fortune  !  If  we  had  not  met  to-day,  you  see,  at 
Flicoteaux's,  you  might  have  danced  attendance  on  the  book- 
sellers for  another  three  years,  or  starved  like  d'Arthez  in  a 
garret.  By  the  time  that  d'Arthez  is  as  learned  as  Bayle  and 
as  great  a  writer  of  prose  as  Rousseau,  we  shall  have  made 
our  fortunes,  you  and  I,  and  we  shall  hold  his  in  our  hands — 
wealth  and  fame  to  give  or  to  hold.  Finot  will  be  a  deputy 
and  proprietor  of  a  great  newspaper,  and  we  shall  be  what- 
ever we  meant  to  be — peers  of  France,  or  prisoners  for  debt 
in  Sainte-Pelagie." 

**  So  Finot  will  sell  his  paper  to  the  highest  bidder  among 
the  ministers,  just  as  he  sells  favorable  notices  to  Madame 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  167 

Bastieniie  and  runs  down  Mademoiselle  Virginie,  saying  that 
Madame  Bastienne's  bonnets  are  superior  to  the  millinery 
which  they  praised  at  first  !  "  said  Lucien,  recollecting  that, 
to  him,  astonishing  and  laughable  scene  in  the  office  when  he 
was  awaiting  Finot. 

**  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  a  simpleton,"  Lousteau  remarked 
drily.  "  Three  years  ago  Finot  was  walking  on  the  uppers 
of  his  boots,  dining  for  eighteen  sous  at  Tabar's,  and  knocking 
off  a  tradesman's  prospectus  (when  he  could  get  it)  for  ten 
francs.  His  clothes  hung  together  by  some  miracle  as  mys- 
terious as  the  Immaculate  Conception.  How,  Finot  has  a 
paper  of  his  own,  worth  about  a  hundred  thousand  francs. 
What  with  subscribers  who  pay  and  take  no  copies,  genuine 
subscriptions,  and  indirect  taxes  levied  by  his  uncle,  he  is 
making  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year.  He  dines  most  sump- 
tuously every  day ;  he  has  set  up  a  cabriolet  within  the  last 
month ;  and  now,  at  last,  behold  him  the  editor  of  a  weekly 
review  with  a  sixth  share,  for  which  he  will  not  pay  one 
penny,  a  salary  of  five  hundred  francs  per  month,  and  another 
thousand  francs  for  supplying  matter  which  costs  him  nothing 
and  for  which  the  firm  pays.  You  yourself,  to  begin  with,  if 
Finot  consents  to  pay  you  fifty  francs  per  sheet,  will  be  only 
too  glad  to  let  him  have  two  or  three  articles  for  nothing. 
When  you  are  in  his  position,  you  can  judge  Finot ;  a  man 
can  only  be  tried  by  his  peers.  And  for  you,  is  there  not  an 
immense  future  opening  out  before  you  if  you  will  blindly 
minister  to  his  enmity,  attack  at  Finot's  bidding,  and  praise 
when  he  gives  the  word  ?  Suppose  that  you  yourself  wish  to 
be  revenged  upon  somebody,  you  can  break  a  foe  or  friend 
on  the  wheel.  You  have  only  to  say  to  me,  *  Lousteau,  let  us 
put  an  end  to  So-and-so,'  and  we  will  kill  him  by  a  phrase 
put  in  the  paper  morning  by  morning ;  and  afterward  you 
can  slay  the  slain  with  a  solemn  article  in  Finot's  weekly. 
Indeed,  if  it  is  a  matter  of  capital  importance  to  you,  Finot 
would  allow  you  to  bludgeon  your  man  in  a  big  paper  with 


i5^  A  PROViNCiAL  AT  PARIS. 

ten  or  twelve  thousand  subscribers,  if  you  make  yourself  in- 
dispensable to  Finot." 

**  Then  are  you  sure  that  Florine  can  bring  her  druggist  to 
make  the  bargain?"  asked  Lucien,  dazzled  by  these  pros- 
pects. 

**  Quite  sure.  Now  comes  the  interval,  I  will  go  and  tell 
her  everything  at  once  in  a  word  or  two ;  it  will  be  settled 
to-night.  If  Florine  once  has  her  lesson  by  heart,  she  will 
have  all  my  wit  and  her  own  beside." 

"  And  there  sits  that  honest  tradesman,  gaping  with  open- 
mouthed  admiration  at  Florine,  little  suspecting  that  you  are 
about  to  get  thirty  thousand  francs  out  of  him  ! " 

"  More  twaddle  !  Anybody  might  think  that  the  man  was 
going  to  be  robbed  !  "  cried  Lousteau.  "  Why,  my  dear 
boy,  if  the  Minister  buys  the  newspaper,  the  druggist  may 
make  twenty  thousand  francs  in  six  months  on  an  investment 
of  thirty  thousand.  Matifat  is  not  looking  at  the  newspaper, 
but  at  Florine's  prospects.  As  soon  as  it  is  known  that  Mati- 
fat and  Camusot — (for  they  will  go  shares) — that  Matifat  and 
Camusot  are  proprietors  of  a  review,  the  newspapers  will  be 
full  of  friendly  notices  of  Florine  and  Coralie.  Florine's 
name  will  be  made ;  she  will  perhaps  obtain  an  engagement 
in  another  theatre  with  a  salary  of  twelve  thousand  francs. 
In  fact,  Matifat  will  save  a  thousand  francs  every  month  in 
dinners  and  presents  to  journalists.  You  know  nothing  of 
men  nor  of  the  way  things  are  managed." 

**  Poor  man  !  "  said  Lucien,  "  he  is  looking  forward  to  an 
evening's  pleasure." 

**  And  he  will  be  sawn  in  two  with  arguments  until  Florine 
sees  Finot's  receipt  for  a  sixth  share  of  the  paper.  And  to- 
morrow I  shall  be  editor  of  Finot's  paper,  and  making  a 
thousand  francs  a  month.  The  end  of  my  troubles  is  in 
sight !  "  cried  Florine's  lover. 

Lousteau  went  out  and  Lucien  sat  like  one  bewildered,  lost 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  159 

in  the  infinite  of  thought,  soaring  above  this  every-day  world. 
In  the  Wooden  Galleries  he  had  seen  the  wires  by  which  the 
trade  in  books  is  moved  ;  he  had  seen  something  of  the 
kitchen  where  great  reputations  are  made ;  he  had  been  be- 
hind the  scenes ;  he  had  seen  the  seamy  side  of  life,  the  con- 
sciences of  men  involved  in  the  machinery  of  Paris,  the 
mechanism  of  it  all.  As  he  watched  Florine  on  the  stage  he 
almost  envied  Lousteau  his  good  fortune ;  already,  for  a  few 
moments,  he  had  forgotten  Matifat  in  the  background.  He 
was  not  left  alone  for  long,  perhaps  for  not  more  than  five 
minutes,  but  those  minutes  seemed  an  eternity. 

Thoughts  rose  within  him  that  set  his  soul  on  fire,  as  the 
spectacle  on  the  stage  had  heated  his  senses.  He  looked  at 
the  women  with  their  wanton  eyes,  all  the  brighter  for  the  red 
paint  on  their  cheeks,  at  the  gleaming  bare  necks,  the  luxuri- 
ant forms  outlined  by  the  lascivious  folds  of  the  basquina,  the 
very  short  skirts,  that  displayed  as  much  as  possible  of  limbs 
encased  in  scarlet  stockings  with  green  clocks  to  them — a  dis- 
quieting vision  for  the  pit. 

A  double  process  of  corruption  was  working  within  him  in 
parallel  lines,  like  two  channels  that  will  spread  sooner  or  later 
in  flood-time  and  make  one.  That  corruption  was  eating  into 
Lucien's  soul,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  corner,  staring  vacantly 
at  the  curtain,  one  arm  resting  on  the  crimson  velvet  cushion 
and  his  hand  drooping  over  the  edge.  He  felt  the  fascination 
of  the  life  that  was  offered  to  him,  of  the  gleams  of  light 
among  its  clouds;  and  this  so  much  the  more  keenly  because 
it  shone  out  like  a  blaze  of  fireworks  against  the  blank  dark- 
ness of  his  own  obscure,  monotonous  days  of  toil. 

Suddenly  his  listless  eyes  became  aware  of  a  burning  glarce 
that  reached  him  through  a  rent  in  the  curtain,  and  roused 
him  from  his  lethargy.  Those  were  Coralie's  eyes  that  glowed 
upon  him.  He  lowered  his  head  and  looked  across  at  Camu- 
sot,  who  just  then  entered  the  opposite  box. 

That   amateur  was  a  worthy  silk-mercer  of  the  Rue  des 


160  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

Bourdonnais,  stout  and  substantial,  a  judge  in  the  commercial 
court,  a  father  of  four  children,  and  the  husband  of  a  second 
wife.  At  the  age  of  fifty-six,  with  a  cap  of  gray  hair  on  his 
head,  he  had  the  smug  appearance  of  a  man  who  has  his 
eighty  thousand  francs  of  income ;  and  having  been  forced  to 
put  up  with  a  good  deal  that  he  did  not  like  in  the  way  of 
business,  has  fully  made  up  his  mind  to  enjoy  the  rest  of  life, 
and  not  to  quit  this  earth  until  he  has  had  his  share  of  cakes 
and  ale.  A  brow  the  color  of  fresh  butter  and  florid  cheeks 
like  a  monk's  jowl  seemed  scarcely  big  enough  to  contain  his 
exuberant  jubilation.  Camusot  had  left  his  wife  at  home, 
and  they  were  applauding  Coral ie  to  the  skies  !  All  the  rich 
man's  citizen-vanity  was  summed  up  and  gratified  in  Coralie ; 
in  Coralie's  lodging  he  gave  himself  the  airs  of  a  great  lord 
of  a  bygone  day ;  now,  at  this  moment,  he  felt  that  half  of 
her  success  was  his;  the  knowledge  that  he  had  paid  for  it 
confirmed  him  in  this  idea.  Camusot's  conduct  was  sanc- 
tioned by  the  presence  of  his  father-in-law,  a  little  old  fogey 
with  powdered  hair  and  leering  eyes,  highly  respected  never- 
theless. 

Again  Lucien  felt  disgust  rising  within  him.  He  thought 
of  the  year  when  he  loved  Mme.  de  Bargeton  with  an  exalted 
and  disinterested  love;  and  at  that  thought  love,  as  a  poet 
understands  it,  spread  its  white  wings  about  him ;  countless 
memories  drew  a  circle  of  distant  blue  horizon  about  the 
great  man  of  Angoulgme,  and  again  he  fell  to  dreaming. 

Up  went  the  curtain,  and  there  stood  Coralie  and  Fiorina 
upon  the  stage. 

**  He  is  thinking  about  as  much  of  you  as  of  the  Grand 
Turk,  my  dear  girl,"  Florine  said  in  an  aside  while  Coralie 
was  finishing  her  speeeh. 

Lucien  could  not  help  laughing.  He  looked  at  Coralie. 
She  was  one  of  the  most  charming  and  captivating  actresses  in 
Paris,  rivaling  Mme.  Perrin  and  Mile.  Fleuriet,  and  destined 
likewise  to  share  their  fate.     Coralie  was  a  woman  of  a  type 


A  Ff^VINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  161 

that  exerts  at  will  a  power  of  fascination  over  men.  With  an 
oval  face  of  deep  ivory  tint,  a  mouth  red  as  a  pomegranate, 
and  a  chin  subtly  delicate  in  its  contour  as  the  edge  of  a 
porcelain  cup,  Coralie  was  a  Jewess  of  the  sublime  type. 
The  jet  black  eyes  behind  their  curving  lashes  seemed  to 
scorch  her  eyelids ;  you  could  guess  how  soft  they  might 
grow,  or  how  sparks  of  the  heat  of  the  desert  might  flash 
from  them  in  response  to  a  summons  from  within.  The 
circles  of  olive  shadow  about  them  were  bounded  by  thick 
arching  lines  of  eyebrow.  Magnificent  mental  power,  well- 
nigh  amounting  to  genius,  seemed  to  dwell  in  the  swarthy 
forehead  beneath  the  double  curve  of  ebony  hair  that  lay  upon 
it  like  a  crown,  and  gleamed  in  the  light  like  a  varn'ished 
surface ;  but,  like  many  another  actress,  Coralie  had  little  wit 
in  spite  of  her  aptness  at  green-room  repartee  and  scarcely  any 
education  in  spite  of  her  boudoir  experience.  Her  brain  was 
prompted  by  her  senses,  her  kindness  was  the  impulsive  warm- 
heartedness of  girls  of  her  class.  But  who  could  trouble  over 
Coralie's  psychology  when  his  eyes  were  dazzled  by  those 
smooth,  round  arms  of  hers,  the  spindle-shaped  fingers,  the 
fair,  white  shoulders,  and  breast  celebrated  in  the  Song  of 
Songs,  the  flexible  curving  lines  of  throat,  the  graciously 
moulded  outlines  beneath  the  scarlet  silk  stockings?  And 
this  beauty,  worthy  of  an  Eastern  poet,  was  brought  into 
relief  by  the  conventional  Spanish  costume  of  the  stage. 
Coralie  was  the  delight  of  the  pit ;  all  eyes  dwelt  on  the  out- 
lines moulded  by  the  clinging  folds  of  her  bodice,  and  lin- 
gered over  the  Andalusian  contour  of  the  hips  from  which  her 
skirt  hung,  fluttering  wantonly  with  every  movement.  To 
Lucien,  watching  this  creature,  who  played  for  him  alone, 
caring  no  more  for  Camusot  than  a  street-boy  in  the  gallery 
cares  for  an  apple-paring,  there  came  a  moment  when  he  set 
desire  above  love,  and  enjoyment  above  desire,  and  the  demon 
of  lust  stirred  strange  thoughts  in  him. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  love  that  wallows  in  luxury  and 
11 


162  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

wine  and  sensual  pleasure,"  he  said  within  himself.  "  I  have 
lived  more  with  ideas  than  with  realities.  You  must  pass 
through  all  experience  if  you  mean  to  render  all  experience. 
This  will  be  my  first  great  supper,  my  first  orgie  in  a  new  and 
strange  world ;  why  should  I  not  know,  for  once,  the  delights 
which  the  great  lords  of  the  eighteenth  century  sought  so 
eagerly  of  wantons  of  the  opera?  Must  one  not  first  learn  of 
courtesans  and  actresses  the  delights,  the  perfections,  the 
transports,  the  resources,  the  subtleties  of  love,  if  only  to 
translate  them  afterward  into  the  regions  of  a  higher  love 
than  this  ?  And  what  is  all  this,  after  all,  but  the  poetry  of 
the  senses  ?  Two  months  ago  these  women  seemed  to  me  to 
be  goddesses  guarded  by  dragons  that  no  one  dared  approach ; 
I  was  envying  Lousteau  just  now,  but  here  is  another  hand- 
somer than  Florine ;  why  should  I  not  profit  by  her  fancy, 
when  the  greatest  nobles  buy  a  night  with  such  women  with 
their  richest  treasures?  When  ambassadors  set  foot  in  these 
depths  they  fling  aside  all  thought  of  yesterday  or  to-morrow. 
I  should  be  a  fool  to  be  more  squeamish  than  princes,  espe- 
cially as  I  love  no  one  as  yet." 

Lucien  had  quite  forgotten  Camusot.  To  Lousteau  he  had 
expressed  the  utmost  disgust  for  this  most  hateful  of  all  parti- 
tions, and  now  he  himself  had  sunk  to  the  same  level,  and, 
carried  away  by  the  casuistry  of  his  vehement  desire,  had 
given  the  reins  to  his  fancy. 

"  Coralie  is  raving  about  you,"  said  Lousteau  as  he  came 
in.  **  Your  countenance,  worthy  of  the  greatest  Greek  sculp- 
tors, has  worked  unutterable  havoc  behind  the  scenes.  You 
are  in  luck,  my  dear  boy.  Coralie  is  eighteen  years  old,  and 
in  a  few  days'  time  she  may  be  making  sixty  thousand  francs 
a  year  by  her  beauty.  She  is  an  honest  girl  still.  Since  her 
mother  sold  her  three  years  ago  for  sixty  thousand  francs,  she 
has  tried  to  find  happiness  and  found  nothing  but  annoyance. 
She  took  to  the  stage  in  a  desperate  mood ;  she  has  a  horror 
of  her  first  purchaser,  de  Marsay ;  and  when  she  came  out  of 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  163 

the  galleys,  for  the  king  of  dandies  soon  dropped  her,  she 
picked  up  old  Camusot.  She  does  not  care  much  about  nim, 
but  he  is  like  a  father  to  her,  and  she  endures  him  and  his 
love.  Several  times  already  she  has  refused  the  handsomest 
proposals;  she  is  faithful  to  Camusot,  who  lets  her  live  in 
peace.  So  you  are  her  first  love.  The  first  sight  of  you  went 
to  her  heart  like  a  pistol-shot,  Florine  has  gone  to  her  dress- 
ing-room to  bring  the  girl  to  reason.  She  is  crying  over  your 
cruelty ;  she  has  forgotten  her  part,  the  play  will  go  to  pieces, 
then  good-day  to  the  engagement  at  the  Gymnase  which 
Camusot  had  planned  for  her." 

"Pooh!  Poor  thing!"  said  Lucien.  Every  instinct  of 
vanity  was  tickled  by  the  words ;  he  felt  his  heart  swell  high 
with  self-conceit.  "  More  adventures  have  befallen  mr  this 
one  evening,  my  dear  fellow,  than  in  all  the  first  eighteen 
years  of  my  life."  And  Lucien  related  the  history  of  his  love 
affairs  with  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  and  of  the  cordial  hatred  he 
bore  the  Baron  du  Chatelet. 

"  Stay  though  !  the  newspaper  wants  a  bete  noire  (wild 
boar)  ;  we  will  take  him  up.  The  Baron  is  a  buck  of  the  Em- 
pire and  a  Ministerialist  j  he  is  the  man  for  us ;  I  have  seen 
him  many  a  time  at  the  opera.  I  can  see  your  great  lady 
as  I  sit  here ;  she  is  often  in  the  Marquise  d'Espard's  box. 
The  Baron  is  paying  court  to  your  lady-love,  a  cuttlefish 
bone  that  she  is.  Wait !  Finot  has  just  sent  a  special  mes- 
senger round  to  say  that  they  are  short  of  copy  at  the  office. 
Young  Hector  Merlin  has  left  them  in  the  lurch  because  they 
did  not  pay  for  white  lines.  Finot,  in  despair,  is  knocking 
off  an  article  against  the  opera.  Well  now,  my  dear  fellow, 
you  can  do  this  play  ;  listen  to  it  and  think  it  over,  and  I  will 
go  to  the  manager's  office  and  think  out  three  columns  about 
your  man  and  your  disdainful  fair  one.  They  will  be  in  no 
pleasant  predicament  to-morrow." 

"  So  this  is  how  a  newspaper  is  written  ?  "  said  Lucien. 

"It  is  always  like  this,"  answered  Lousteau.     "  These  ten 


164  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

months  that  I  have  been  a  journalist,  they  have  always  run 
short  of  copy  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening." 

Manuscript  sent  to  the  printer  is  spoken  of  as  "copy," 
doubtless  because  the  writers  are  supposed  to  send  in  a  fair 
copy  of  their  work  ;  or  possibly  the  word  is  ironically  derived 
from  the  Latin  word  copia,  for  copy  is  invariably  scarce. 

*'  We  always  mean  to  have  a  few  numbers  ready  in  advance, 
a  grand  idea  that  will  never  be  realized,"  continued  Lousteau. 
"  It  is  ten  o'clock,  you  see,  and  not  a  line  has  been  written. 
I  shall  ask  Vernou  and  Nathan  for  a  score  of  epigrams  on 
deputies,  or  on  *  Chancellor  Cruzod,'  or  on  the  Ministry,  or 
on  friends  of  ours  if  it  needs  must  be.  A  man  in  this  pass 
would  slaughter  his  parent,  just  as  a  privateer  will  load  his 
guns  with  silver  pieces  taken  out  of  the  booty  sooner  than 
perish.  Write  a  brilliant  article,  and  you  will  make  brilliant 
progress  in  Finot's  estimation  ;  for  Finot  has  a  lively  sense  of 
benefits  to  come,  and  that  sort  of  gratitude  is  better  than  any 
kind  of  pledge,  pawntickets  always  excepted,  for  they  in- 
variably represent  something  solid." 

"What  kind  of  men  can  journalists  be?  Are  you  to  sit 
down  at  a  table  and  be  witty  to  order  ?  " 

"  Just  exactly  as  a  lamp  begins  to  burn  when  you  apply  a 
match — so  long  as  there  is  any  oil  in  it." 

Lousteau's  hand  was  on  the  lock  when  du  Bruel  came  in 
with  the  manager. 

'*  Permit  me,  monsieur,  to  take  a  message  to  Coralie ;  allow 
me  to  tell  her  that  you  will  go  home  with  her  after  supper,  or 
my  play  will  be  ruined.  The  wretched  girl  does  not  know 
what  she  is  doing  or  saying ;  she  will  cry  when  she  ought  to 
laugh,  and  laugh  when  she  ought  to  cry.  She  has  been  hissed 
once  already.  You  can  still  save  the  piece,  and,  after  all, 
pleasure  is  not  a  misfortune." 

"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  rivals,  sir,"  Lucien  answered. 

"  Pray  don't  tell  her  that !  "  cried  the  manager.  "  Coralie 
is  just  the  girl  to  fling  Camusot  overboard  and  ruin  herself  in 


A  P^VINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  165 

good  earnest.  The  proprietor  of  the  •  Golden  Cocoon,'  worthy 
man,  allows  her  two  thousand  francs  a  month  and  pays  for  all 
her  dresses  and  her  claqueurs  "  (paid  applauders). 

"  As  your  promise  pledges  me  to  nothing,  save  your  play," 
said  Lucien,  with  a  sultan's  airs. 

"But  don't  look  as  if  you  meant  to  snub  that  charming 
creature,"  pleaded  du  Bruel. 

"  Dear  me!  am  I  to  write  the  notice  of  your  play  and 
smile  on  your  heroine  as  well  ?  "  exclaimed  the  poet. 

The  author  vanished  with  a  signal  to  Coralie,  who  began 
to  act  forthwith  in  a  marvelous  way.  Vignol,  who  played  the 
part  of  the  alcalde,  and  revealed  for  the  first  time  his  genius 
as  an  actor  of  old  men,  came  forward  amid  a  storm  of 
applause  to  make  an  announcement  to  the  house. 

"  The  piece  which  we  have  the  honor  of  playing  for  you 
this  evening,  gentlemen,  is  the  work  of  Messieurs  Raoul  and 
de  Cursy." 

"Why,  Nathan  is  partly  responsible,"  said  Lousteau.  "I 
don't  wonder  that  he  looked  in." 

^^  Coralie  !  Coralie .' "  loudly  shouted  the  enraptured  house. 
"  Florine,  too!  "  roared  a  voice  of  thunder  from  the  opposite 
box,  and  then  other  voices  took  up  the  cry,  "  Florine  and 
Coralie!  " 

The  curtain  rose  and  Vignol  reappeared  between  the  two 
actresses;  Matifat  and  Camusot  flung  wreaths  on  the  stage, 
and  Coralie  stooped  for  her  flowers  and  held  them  out  to 
Lucien. 

For  him  those  two  hours  spent  in  the  theatre  seemed  to  be 
a  dream.  The  spell  that  held  him  had  begun  to  work  when 
he  went  behind  the  scenes  ;  and,  in  spite  of  its  horrors,  the 
atmosphere  of  the  place,  its  sensuality  and  dissolute  morals 
had  affected  the  poet's  still  untainted  nature.  A  sort  of 
malaria  that  infects  the  soul  seems  to  lurk  among  those  dark, 
filthy  passages  filled  with  machinery,  and  lit  with  smoky, 
greasy  lamps.     The  solemnity  and  reality  of  life  disappear, 


166  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

the  most  sacred  things  are  matter  for  a  jest,  the  most  impos- 
sible things  seem  to  be  true.  Lucien  felt  as  if  he  had  taken 
some  narcotic,  and  Coralie  had  completed  the  work.  He 
plunged  into  this  joyous  intoxication. 

The  lights  in  the  great  chandelier  were  extinguished ;  there 
was  no  one  left  in  the  house  except  the  boxkeepers,  busy  tak- 
ing away  footstools  and  shutting  doors,  the  noises  echoing 
strangely  through  the  empty  theatre.  The  footlights,  blown 
out  as  one  candle,  sent  up  a  fetid  reek  of  smoke.  The  cur- 
tain rose  again,  a  lantern  was  lowered  from  the  ceiling,  and 
firemen  and  stage  carpenters  departed  on  their  rounds.  The 
fairy  scenes  of  the  stage,  the  rows  of  fair  faces  in  the  boxes, 
the  dazzling  lights,  the  magical  illusion  of  new  scenery  and 
costume  had  all  disappeared,  and  dismal  darkness,  emptiness, 
and  cold  reigned  in  their  stead.  It  was  hideous.  Lucien  sat 
on  in  bewilderment. 

''Well!  are  you  coming,  my  boy?"  Lousteau's  voice 
called  from  the  stage.     "  Jump  down." 

Lucien  sprang  over.  He  scarcely  recognized  Florine  and 
Coralie  in  their  ordinary  quilted  paletots  and  cloaks,  with 
their  faces  hidden  by  hats  and  thick  black  veils.  Two  butter- 
flies returned  to  the  chrysalis  stage  could  not  be  more  com- 
pletely transformed. 

"Will  you  honor  me  by  giving  me  your  arm?"  Coralie 
asked  tremulously. 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Lucien.  He  could  feel  the  beating 
of  her  heart  throbbing  against  his  like  some  snared  bird  as 
she  nestled  closely  to  his  side,  with  something  of  the  delight 
of  a  cat  that  rubs  herself  against  her  master  with  eager  silken 
caresses. 

"So  we  are  supping  together !  "  she  said. 

The  party  of  four  found  two  cabs  waiting  for  them  at  the 
door  in  the  Rue  des  Fosses-du-Temple.  Coralie  drew  Lucien 
to  one  of  the  two,  in  which  Camusot  and  his  father-in-law, 
old  Cardot,  were  seated  already.     She  offered  du  Bruel  a  fifth 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  167 

place,  and  the  manager  drove  off  with  Florine,  Matifat,  and 
Lousteau. 

**  These  hackney  cabs  are  abominable  things,"  said  Coralie. 

"  Why  don't  you  have  a  carriage  ?  "  returned  du  Bruel. 

**  Why  /  "  she  asked  pettishly.  "  I  do  not  like  to  tell  you 
before  Monsieur  Cardot's  face  ;  for  he  trained  his  son-in-law, 
no  doubt.  Would  you  believe  it,  little  and  old  as  he  is.  Mon- 
sieur Cardot  only  gives  Florentine  five  hundred  francs  a 
month,  just  about  enough  to  pay  for  her  rent  and  her  grub 
and  her  clothes.  The  old  Marquis  de  Rochegude  offered  me 
a  brougham  two  months  ago  and  he  has  six  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year,  but  I  am  an  artist  and  not  a  common  hussy." 

"  You  shall  have  a  carriage  the  day  after  to-morrow,  miss," 
said  Camusot  benignly ;  "  you  never  asked  me  for  one." 

"As  if  one  asked  for  such  a  thing  as  that?  What  !  you 
love  a  woman  and  let  her  paddle  about  in  the  mud  at  the  risk 
of  breaking  her  legs?  Nobody  but  a  knight  of  the  yardstick 
likes  to  see  a  draggled  skirt-hem." 

As  she  uttered  the  sharp  words  that  cut  Camusot  to  the 
quick,  she  groped  for  Lucien's  knee,  and  pressed  it  between 
her  own  and  clasped  her  fingers  tightly  upon  his  hand.  She 
was  silent.  All  her  power  to  feel  seemed  to  be  concentrated 
upon  the  ineffable  joy  of  a  moment  which  brings  compensa- 
tion for  the  whole  wretched  past  of  a  life  such  as  these  poor 
creatures  lead,  and  develops  within  their  souls  a  poetry  of 
which  other  women,  happily  ignorant  of  these  violent  revul- 
sions, know  nothing. 

"  You  played  like  Mademoiselle  Mars  herself  toward  the 
end,"  said  du  Bruel. 

"Yes,"  said  Camusot,  "something  put  her  out  at  the  be- 
ginning; but  from  the  middle  of  the  second  act  to  the  very 
end  she  was  enough  to  drive  you  wild  with  admiration. 
Half  of  the  success  of  your  play  was  due  to  her." 

"And  half  of  her  success  is  due  to  me,"  said  du  Bruel. 

"  This  is  all  much  ado  about  nothing,"  said  Coralie  in  an 


168  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

unfamiliar  voice.  And,  seizing  an  opportunity  in  the  dark- 
ness, she  carried  Lucien's  hand  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it  and 
drenched  it  with  tears.  Lucien  felt  thrilled  through  and 
through  by  that  touch,  for  in  the  humility  of  the  courtesan's 
love  there  is  a  magnificence  which  might  set  an  example  to 
angels. 

'*  Are  you  writing  the  dramatic  criticism,  monsieur?  "  said 
du  Bruel,  addressing  Lucien;  "you  can  write  a  charming 
paragraph  about  our  dear  Coralie." 

"Oh  !  do  us  that  little  service  !  "  pleaded  Camusot,  down 
on  his  knees,  metaphorically  speaking,  before  the  critic. 
**  You  will  always  find  me  ready  to  do  you  a  good  turn  at  any 
time." 

"  Do  leave  him  his  independence,"  Coralie  exclaimed 
angrily  ;  "  he  will  write  what  he  pleases.  Papa  Camusot,  buy 
carriages  for  me  instead  of  praises." 

"You  shall  have  them  on  very  easy  terms,"  Lucien  an- 
swered politely.  "  I  have  never  written  for  newspapers  be- 
fore, so  I  am  not  accustomed  to  their  ways,  my  maiden  pen  is 
at  your  disposal " 

"That  is  funny,"  said  du  Bruel. 

"  Here  we  are  in  the  Rue  de  Bondy,"  said  Cardot.  Cora- 
lie's  sally  had  quite  crushed  the  little  old  man. 

"  If  you  are  giving  me  the  firstfruits  of  your  pen,  the  first 
love  that  has  sprung  up  in  my  heart  shall  be  yours,"  whispered 
Coralie  in  the  brief  instant  that  they  remained  alone  together 
in  the  cab;  then  she  went  up  to  Florine's  bedroom  to  change 
her  dress  for  a  toilet  previously  sent. 

Lucien  had  no  idea  how  lavishly  a  prosperous  merchant 
will  spend  money  upon  an  actress  or  a  mistress  when  he  means 
to  enjoy  a  life  of  pleasure.  Matifat  was  not  nearly  so  rich  a 
man  as  his  friend  Camusot,  and  he  had  done  his  part  rather 
shabbily,  yet  the  sight  of  the  dining-room  took  Lucien  by 
surprise.  The  walls  were  hung  with  green  cloth  with  a  border 
of  gilded  nails,  the  whole  room  was  artistically  decorated. 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  169 

lighted  by  handson>e  lamps,  stands  full  of  flowers  stood  in 
every  direction.  The  drawing-room  was  resplendent  with  the 
furniture  in  fashion  in  those  days — a  Thomire  chandelier,  a 
carpet  of  Eastern  design,  and  yellow  silken  hangings  relieved 
by  a  brown  border.  The  candlesticks,  and  irons,  and  clock 
were  all  in  good  taste  ;  for  Matifat  had  left  everything  to 
Grindot,  a  rising  architect,  who  was  building  a  house  for  him, 
and  the  young  man  had  taken  great  pains  with  the  rooms 
when  he  knew  that  Florine  was  to  occupy  them. 

Matifat,  a  tradesman  to  the  backbone,  went  about  carefully, 
afraid  to  touch  the  new  furniture  ;  he  seemed  to  have  the 
totals  of  the  bills  always  before  his  eyes,  and  to  look  upon 
the  splendors  about  him  as  so  much  jewelry  imprudently 
withdrawn  from  the  case.  > 

"And  I  shall  be  obliged  to  do  as  much  for  Florentine  !  " 
old  Cardot's  eyes  seemed  to  say. 

Lucien  at  once  began  to  understand  Lousteau's  indifference 
to  the  state  of  his  garret.  Etienne  was  the  real  king  of  these 
festivals;  Etienne  enjoyed  the  use  of  all  these  fine  things. 
He  was  standing  just  now  on  the  hearth-rug  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  as  if  he  were  the  master  of  the  house,  chatting  with 
the  manager,  who  was  congratulating  du  Bruel, 

"Copy,  copy!"  called  Finot,  coming  into  the  room. 
"  There  is  nothing  in  the  box ;  the  printers  are  setting  up 
my  article,  and  they  will  soon  have  finished." 

"We  will  manage,"  said  Etienne.  "There  is  a  fire  burning 
in  Florine's  boudoir  ;  there  is  a  table  there  ;  and  if  Monsieur 
Matifat  will  find  us  paper  and  ink,  we  will  knock  off  the 
newspaper  while  Florine  and  Coralie  are  dressing." 

Cardot,  Camusot,  and  Matifat  disappeared  in  search  of 
quills,  penknives,  and  everything  necessary.  Suddenly  the 
door  was  flung  open,  and  Tullia,  one  of  the  prettiest  opera- 
dancers  of  the  day,  dashed  into  the  room. 

"  They  agree  to  take  the  hundred  copies,  dear  boy  !  "  she 
cried,  addressing  Finot;  "they  won't  cost  the  management 


170  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  FAR  IS. 

anything,  for  the  chorus  and  the  orchestra  and  the  corps  de 
ballet  are  to  take  them  whether  they  like  it  or  not ;  but  your 
paper  is  so  clever  that  nobody  will  grumble.  And  you 
are  going  to  have  your  boxes.  Here  is  the  subscription  for 
the  first  quarter,"  she  continued,  holding  out  a  couple  of 
bank-notes ;  "  so  don't  cut  me  up  !  " 

"It  is  all  over  with  me !  "  groaned  Finot ;  "I  must  sup- 
press my  abominable  diatribe  and  I  haven't  another  notion  in 
my  head." 

"What  a  happy  inspiration,  divine  Lais!"  exclaimed 
Blondet,  who  had  followed  the  lady  upstairs  and  brought 
Nathan,  Vernou,  and  Claud  Yignon  with  him.  **  Stop  to 
supper,  there  is  a  dear,  or  I  will  crush  thee,  butterfly  as  thou 
art.  There  will  be  no  professional  jealousies,  as  you  are  a 
dancer ;  and  as  to  beauty,  you  have  all  of  you  too  much  sense 
to  show  jealousy  in  public." 

"Oh  dear!"  cried  Finot,  "  Nathan,  Blondet,  du  Bruel, 
help,  friends  !     I  want  five  columns." 

"  I  can  make  two  of  the  play,"  said  Lucien. 

"I  have  enough  for  one,"  added  Lousteau. 

"  Very  well ;  Nathan,  Vernou,  and  du  Bruel  will  make  the 
jokes  at  the  end ;  and  Blondet,  good  fellow,  surely  will  vouch- 
safe a  couple  of  short  columns  for  the  first  sheet.  I  will  run 
round  to  the  printer.  It  is  lucky  that  you  brought  your  car- 
riage, Tullia." 

"Yes,  but  the  Duke  is  waiting  below  in  it  and  he  has  a 
German  minister  with  him." 

"Ask  the  Duke  and  the  minister  to  come  up,"  said  Mon- 
sieur Nathan. 

"  A  German  ?  They  are  the  ones  to  drink,  and  they  listen 
too;  he  shall  hear  some  astonishing  things  to  send  home  to 
his  government,"  cried  Blondet. 

"  Is  there  any  sufficiently  serious  personage  to  go  down  to 
speak  to  him?"  asked  Finot.  "  Here,  du  Bruel,  you  are  an 
official ;  bring  up  the  Due  de  Rh6tor6  and  the  minister,  and 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  171 

give  your  arm  to  Tullia.  Dear  me !  TuUia,  how  handsome 
you  are  to-night  !  " 

"  We  shall  be  thirteen  at  table  !  "  exclaimed  Matifat,  pal- 
ing visibly. 

"  No,  fourteen,"  said  a  voice  in  the  doorway,  and  Floren- 
tine appeared.  "  I  have  come  to  look  after  'milord  Cardot,'  " 
she  added,  speaking  with  a  burlesque  English  accent. 

"  And  beside,"  said  Lousteau,  "  Claud  Vignon  came  with 
Blondet." 

"I  brought  him  here  to  drink,"  returned  Blondet,  taking 
up  an  inkstand.  "  Look  here,  all  of  you,  you  must  use  all 
your  wit  before  those  fifty-six  bottles  of  wine  drive  it  out. 
And,  of  all  things,  stir  up  du  Bruel ;  he  is  a  vaudevilliste,  he 
is  capable  of  making  bad  jokes  if  you  get  him  to  concert 
pitch." 

And  Lucien  wrote  his  first  newspaper  article  at  the  round 
table  in  Florine's  boudoir,  by  the  light  of  the  pink  candles 
lighted  by  Matifat ;  before  such  a  remarkable  audience  he 
was  eager  to  show  what  he  could  do. 

The  Panorama-Dramatique. 

First  performance  of  the  "  Alcalde  in  a  Fix,"  an  imbroglio  in  three 
acts.  First  appearance  of  Mademoiselle  Florine.  Mademoiselle  Coralie. 
Vignol. 

People  are  coming  and  going,  walking  and  talking,  every- 
body is  looking  for  something,  nobody  finds  anything.  Gene- 
ral hubbub.  The  Alcalde  has  lost  his  daughter  and  found  his 
cap,  but  the  cap  does  not  fit ;  it  must  belong  to  some  thief. 
Where  is  the  thief?  People  walk  and  talk,  and  come  and  go 
more  than  ever.  Finally,  the  Alcalde  finds  a  man  without 
his  daughter,  and  his  daughter  without  the  man,  which  is 
satisfactory  for  the  magistrate,  but  not  for  the  audience. 
Quiet  being  restored,  the  Alcalde  tries  to  examine  the  man. 
Behold  a  venerable  Alcalde,  sitting  in  an  Alcalde's  great  arm- 


172  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

chair,  arranging  the  sleeves  of  his  Alcalde's  gown.  Only  in 
Spain  do  Alcaldes  cling  to  their  enormous  sleeves  and  wear 
plaited  lawn  ruffles  about  the  magisterial  throat,  a  good  half  of 
an  Alcalde's  business  on  the  stage  in  Paris.  This  particular 
Alcalde,  wheezing  and  waddling  about  like  an  asthmatic  old 
man,  is  Vignol,  on  whom  Potier's  mantle  has  fallen  ;  a  young 
actor  who  personates  old  age  so  admirably  that  the  oldest 
men  in  the  audience  cannot  help  laughing.  With  that 
quavering  voice  of  his,  that  bald  forehead,  and  those  spindle 
shanks  trembling  under  the  weight  of  a  senile  frame,  he  may  look 
forward  to  a  long  career  of  decrepitude.  There  is  something 
alarming  about  the  young  actor's  old  age  ;  he  is  so  very  old ; 
you  feel  nervous  lest  senility  should  be  infectious.  And  what 
an  admirable  Alcalde  he  makes  !  What  a  delightful,  uneasy 
smile  !  what  pompous  stupidity  !  what  wooden  dignity  !  what 
judicial  hesitation  !  How  well  the  man  knows  that  black  may 
be  white,  or  white  black  !  How  eminently  well  he  is  fitted  to 
be  minister  to  a  constitutional  monarch !  The  stranger 
answers  every  one  of  his  inquiries  by  a  question  ;  Vignol  re- 
torts in  such  a  fashion  that  the  person  under  examination 
elicits  all  the  truth  from  the  Alcalde.  This  piece  of  pure 
comedy,  with  a  breath  of  Moliere  throughout,  put  the  house 
in  good  humor.  The  people  on  the  stage  all  seemed  to  under- 
stand what  they  were  about,  but  I  am  quite  unable  to  clear 
up  the  mystery,  or  to  say  wherein  it  lay ;  for  the  Alcalde's 
daughter  was  there,  personified  by  a  living,  breathing  Andalu- 
sian,  a  Spaniard  with  a  Spaniard's  eye,  a  Spaniard's  com- 
plexion, a  Spaniard's  gait  and  figure,  a  Spaniard  from  top  to 
toe,  with  her  poniard  in  her  garter,  love  in  her  heart,  and  a 
cross  on  the  ribbon  about  her  neck.  When  the  act  was  over, 
and  somebody  asked  me  how  the  piece  was  going,  I  answered, 
**  She  wears  scarlet  stockings  witli  green  clocks  to  them  ;  she 
has  a  little  foot,  no  larger  than  that,  in  her  patent-leather 
shoes,  and  the  prettiest  pair  of  ankles  in  Andalusia  !  "  Oh  ! 
that  Alcalde's  daughter  brings  your  heart  into  your  mouth ; 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  173 

she  tantalizes  you  so  horribly,  that  you  long  to  spring  upon 
the  stage  and  offer  her  your  thatched  hovel  and  your  heart,  or 
thirty  thousand  livres  per  annum  and  your  pen.  The  Andalu- 
sian  is  the  loveliest  actress  in  Paris.  Coralie,  for  she  must  be 
called  by  her  real  name,  can  be  a  countess  or  a  grisette,  and 
in  which  part  she  would  be  more  charming  one  cannot  tell. 
She  can  be  anything  that  she  chooses  ;  she  is  born  to  achieve 
all  possibilities  ;  can  more  be  said  of  a  boulevard  actress? 

With  the  second  act,  a  Parisian  Spaniard  appeared  upon 
the  scene,  with  her  features  cut  like  a  cameo  and  her  danger- 
ous eyes.  "Where  does  she  come  from?"  I  asked  in  my 
turn,  and  was  told  that  she  came  from  the  green-room,  and 
that  she  was  Mademoiselle  Florine,  but,  upon  my  word,  I 
could  not  believe  a  syllable  of  it,  such  spirit  was  there  in  her 
gestures,  such  frenzy  in  her  love.  She  is  the  rival  of  the 
Alcalde's  daughter,  and  married  to  a  grandee  cut  out  to  wear 
an  Almaviva's  cloak,  with  stuff  sufficient  in  it  for  a  hundred 
boulevard  noblemen.  Mile.  Florine  wore  neither  scarlet 
stockings  with  green  clocks  nor  patent-leather  shoes,  but  she 
appeared  in  a  mantilla,  a  veil  which  she  put  to  admirable  uses, 
like  the  great  lady  that  she  is !  She  showed  to  admiration 
that  the  tigress  can  be  a  cat.  I  began  to  understand,  from 
the  sparkling  talk  between  the  two,  that  some  drama  of 
jealousy  was  going  on  ;  and  just  as  everything  was  put  right, 
the  Alcalde's  stupidity  embroiled  everybody  again.  Torch- 
bearers,  rich  men,  footmen,  Figaros,  grandees,  alcaldes,  dames, 
and  damsels — the  whole  company  on  the  stage  began  to  eddy 
about,  and  come  and  go,  and  look  for  one  another.  The  plot 
thickened,  again  I  left  it  to  thicken ;  for  Florine  the  jealous 
and  the  happy  Coralie  had  entangled  me  once  more  in  the 
folds  of  mantilla  and  basquina,  and  their  little  feet  were  twink- 
ling in  my  eyes. 

I  managed,  however,  to  reach  the  third  act  without  any 
mishap.  The  commissary  of  police  was  not  compelled  to  in- 
terfere, and  I  did  nothing  to  scandalize  the  house,  wherefore 


174  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

I  begin  to  believe  in  the  influence  of  that  **  public  and  relig- 
ious morality,"  about  which  the  chamber  of  deputies  is  so 
anxious,  that  any  one  might  think  there  was  no  morality  left 
in  France.  I  even  contrived  to  gat  Iter  that  a  man  was  in  love 
with  two  women  who  failed  to  return  his  affection,  or  else 
that  two  women  were  in  love  with  a  man  who  loved  neither 
of  them ;  the  man  did  not  love  the  Alcalde,  or  the  Alcalde 
had  no  love  for  the  man,  who  was  nevertheless  a  gallant  gen- 
tleman, and  in  love  with  somebody,  with  himself,  perhaps,  or 
with  heaven,  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  for  he  becomes  a 
monk.  And  if  you  want  to  know  any  more,  you  can  go  to 
the  Panorama-Dramatique.  You  are  hereby  given  fair  warn- 
ing— you  must  go  once  to  accustom  yourself  to  those  irresist- 
ible scarlet  stockings  with  the  green  clocks,  to  little  feet  full 
of  promises,  to  eyes  with  a  ray  of  sunlight  shining  through 
them,  to  the  subtle  charm  of  a  Parisienne  disguised  as  an 
Andalusian  girl,  and  of  an  Andalusian  masquerading  as  a 
Parisienne.  You  must  go  a  second  time  to  enjoy  the  play,  to 
shed  tears  over  the  love-distracted  grandee,  and  die  of  laugh- 
ing at  the  old  Alcalde.  The  play  is  twice  a  success.  The 
author,  who  writes,  it  is  said,  in  collaboration  with  one  of  the 
great  poets  of  the  day,  was  called  before  the  curtain,  and  ap- 
peared with  a  love-distraught  damsel  on  each  arm,  and  fairly 
brought  down  the  excited  house.  The  two  dancers  seemed 
to  have  more  wit  in  their  legs  than  the  author  himself;  but 
when  once  the  fair  rivals  left  the  stage,  the  dialogue  seemed 
witty  at  once,  a  triumphant  proof  of  the  excellence  of  the 
piece.  The  applause  and  calls  for  the  author  caused  the 
architect  some  anxiety  ;  but  M.  de  Cursy,  the  author,  being 
accustomed  to  the  volcanic  eruptions  of  the  reeling  Vesuvius 
beneath  the  chandelier,  felt  no  tremor.  As  for  the  actresses, 
they  danced  the  famous  bolero  of  Seville,  which  once  found 
favor  in  the  sight  of  a  council  of  reverend  fathers,  and  escaped 
ecclesiastical  censure  in  spite  of  its  wanton  dangerous  grace. 
The  bolero  in  itself  would  be  enough  to  attract  old  age  while 


AJ>ROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  176 

there  is  any  lingering  heat  of  youth  in  the  veins,  and,  out  of 
charity,  I  warn  these  persons  to  keep  the  lenses  of  their  opera- 
glasses  well  polished. 

While  Lucien  was  writing  a  column  which  was  to  set  a  new 
fashion  in  journalism  and  reveal  a  fresh  and  original  gift, 
Lousteau  indited  an  article  of  the  kind  described  as  mceurs* — 
a  sketch  of  contemporary  manners,  entitled  "  The  Elderly 
Beau." 

"The  buck  of  the  empire,"  he  wrote,  "  is  invariably  long, 
slender,  and  well  preserved.  He  wears  a  corset  and  the  cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  His  name  was  originally  Potelet, 
or  something  very  like  it ;  but  to  stand  well  with  thf*  court, 
he  conferred  a  du  upon  himself,  and  du  Potelet  he  is  until 
another  revolution.  A  baron  of  the  empire,  a  man  of  two 
ends,  as  his  name  {Foieiet,  a  post)  implies,  he  is  paying  his 
court  to  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  after  a  youth  gloriously 
and  usefully  spent  as  the  agreeable  trainbearer  of  a  sister  of 
the  man  whom  decency  forbids  me  to  mention  by  name.  Du 
Potelet  has  forgotten  that  he  was  once  in  waiting  upon  her 
imperial  highness ;  but  he  still  sings  the  songs  composed  for  the 
benefactress  who  took  such  a  tender  interest  in  his  career,"  and 
so  forth,  and  so  forth ;  it  was  a  tissue  of  personalities,  silly  enough 
for  the  most  part,  such  as  they  used  to  write  in  those  days. 
Other  papers,  and  notably  the  "Figaro,"  have  brought  the 
art  to  a  curious  perfection  since.  Lousteau  compared  the 
Baron  to  a  heron,  and  introduced  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  to 
whom  he  was  paying  his  court,  as  a  cuttlefish  bone,  a  burlesque 
absurdity  which  amused  readers  who  knew  neither  of  the  per- 
sonages. The  tales  of  the  loves  of  the  heron,  who  tried  in 
vain  to  swallow  the  cuttlefish  bone,  which  broke  into  three 
pieces  when  he  dropped  it,  was  irresistibly  ludicrous.  Every- 
body remembers  the  sensation  which  the  pleasantry  made  in 
the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain ;  it  was  the  first  of  a  series  of 
*  Lit. :  Manners ;  meaning  personal  squibs. 


176  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

similar  articles,  and  was  one  of  the  thousand  and  one  causes 
which  provoked  the  rigorous  press  legislation  of  Charles  X. 

An  hour  later,  Blondet,  Lousteau,  and  Lucien  came  back  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  the  other  guests  were  chatting.  The 
Duke  was  there  and  the  minister,  the  four  women,  the  three 
merchants,  the  manager,  and  Finot.  A  printer's  devil,  with 
a  paper-cap  on  his  head,  was  waiting  even  then  for  copy. 

"The  men  are  just  going  off,  if  I  have  nothing  to  take 
them,"  he  said. 

"  Stay  a  bit,  here  are  ten  francs,  and  tell  them  to  wait," 
said  Finot. 

"  If  I  give  them  the  money,  sir,  they  would  take  to  tipple- 
ography,  and  good-night  to  the  newspaper." 

"That  boy's  commonsense  is  appalling  to  me,"  remarked 
Finot ;  and  the  minister  was  in  the  middle  of  a  prediction  of 
a  brilliant  future  for  the  urchin,  when  the  three  came  in. 
Blondet  read  aloud  an  extremely  clever  article  against  the 
Romantics ;  Lousteau's  paragraph  drew  laughter,  and  by  the 
Due  de  Rhetord's  advice  an  indirect  eulogium  of  Mme.  d'Es- 
pard  was  slipped  in,  lest  the  whole  Faubourg  Saint-Germain 
should  take  offense. 

"And  now  what  have  you  written?"  asked  Finot,  turning 
to  Lucien. 

And  Lucien  read,  quaking  for  fear,  but  the  room  rang  with 
applause  when  he  finished ;  the  actresses  embraced  the  neo- 
phyte; and  the  two  merchants,  following  suit,  half-choked 
the  breath  out  of  him.  There  were  tears  in  du  Bruel's  eyes 
as  he  grasped  his  critic's  hand,  and  the  manager  invited  him 
to  dinner. 

"  There  are  no  children  nowadays,"  said  Blondet.  "  Since 
Monsieur  de  Chateaubriand  called  Victor  Hugo  a  *  sublime 
child,'  I  can  only  tell  you  quite  simply  that  you  have  spirit 
and  taste,  and  write  like  a  gentleman." 

"He  is  on  the  newspaper,"  said  Finot,  as  he  thanked 
Etienne  and  gave  him  a  shrewd  glance. 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  177 

**  What  jokes  have  you  made?"  inquired  Lousteau,  turning 
to  Blondet  and  du  Bruel. 

"  Here  are  du  Bruel' s,"  said  Nathan. 

*^*  *'  Now  that  M.  le  Vicomte  d'A is  attracting  so 

much  attention,  they  will  perhaps  let  me  alone,"  M.  le  Vi- 
comte Demosthenes  was  heard  to  say  yesterday. 

*^*  An  Ultra,  condemning  M.  Pasquier's  speech,  said  his 
programme  was  only  a  continuation  of  Decaze's  policy. 
"  Yes,"  said  a  lady,  "  but  he  stands  on  a  Monarchical  basis, 
he  has  just  the  kind  of  leg  for  a  Court  suit." 

"With  such  a  beginning,  I  don't  ask  more  of  you,"  said 
Finot;  "it  will  be  all  right.  Run  round  with  this,"  he 
added,  turning  to  the  boy;  "the  paper  is  not  exactly  a  genuine 
article,  but  it  is  our  best  number  yet,"  and  he  turned  to  the 
group  of  writers.  Already  Lucien's  colleagues  were  privately 
taking  his  measure. 

"That  fellow  has  brains,"  said  Blondet. 

"  His  article  is  well  written,"  said  Claud  Vignon. 

"  Supper  !  "  cried  Matifat. 

The  Duke  gave  his  arm  to  Florine,  Coralie  went  across  to 
Lucien,  and  Tullia  went  in  to  supper  between  Emile  Blondet 
and  the  German  minister. 

"  I  cannot  understand  why  you  are  making  an  onslaught  on 
Madame  de  Bargeton  and  the  Baron  du  Chatelet ;  they  say 
that  he  is  prefect-designate  of  the  Charente,  and  will  be  a 
master  of  requests  some  day." 

"  Madame  de  Bargeton  showed  Lucien  the  door  as  if  he  had 
been  an  impostor,"  said  Lousteau. 

"  Such  a  fine  young  fellow  !  "  exclaimed  the  minister. 

Supper,  served  with  new  plate,  Sdvres  porcelain  and  white 
damask,  was  redolent  of  opulence.  The  dishes  were  from 
Chevet,  the  wines  from  a  celebrated  merchant  on  the  Quai 
12 


178  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

Saint-Bernard,  a  personal  friend  of  Matifat's.  For  the  first 
time  Lucien  beheld  the  luxury  of  Paris  displayed ;  he  went 
from  surprise  to  surprise,  but  he  kept  his  astonishment  to  him- 
self, like  a  man  who  had  spirit  and  taste  and  wrote  like  a  gen- 
tleman, as  Blondet  had  said. 

As  they  crossed  the  drawing-room  Coralie  bent  to  Florine, 
**  Make  Camusot  so  drunk  that  he  will  be  compelled  to  stop 
here  all  night,"  she  whispered. 

"So  you  have  hooked  your  journalist,  have  you?  ".returned 
Florine,  using  the  idiom  of  women  of  her  class. 

"No,  dear;  I  love  him,"  said  Coralie,  with  an  adorable 
little  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

Those  words  rang  in  Lucien 's  ears,  borne  to  them  by  the 
fifth  deadly  sin.  Coralie  was  perfectly  dressed.  Every  woman 
possesses  some  personal  charm  in  perfection,  and  Coralie's 
toilet  brought  her  characteristic  beauty  into  prominence. 
Her  dress,  moreover,  like  Florine's,  was  of  some  exquisite  stuff, 
unknown  as  yet  to  the  public,  a  mousseline  de  soie,  with  which 
Camusot  had  been  supplied  a  few  days  before  the  rest  of  the 
world  ;  for,  as  owner  of  the  "  Golden  Cocoon,"  he  was  a  kind 
of  Providence  in  Paris  to  the  Lyons  silk-weavers. 

Love  and  the  toilet  are  like  color  and  perfume  for  a  woman, 
and  Coralie  in  her  happiness  looked  lovelier  than  ever.  A 
looked-for  delight  which  cannot  elude  the  grasp  possesses  an 
immense  charm  for  youth  ;  perhaps  in  their  eyes  the  secret  of 
the  attraction  of  a  house  of  pleasure  lies  in  the  certainty  of 
gratification  ;  perhaps  many  a  long  fidelity  is  attributable  to 
the  same  cause.  Love  for  love's  sake,  first  love  indeed,  had 
blended  with  one  of  the  strange  violent  fancies  which  sometimes 
possess  these  poor  creatures;  and  love  and  admiration  of 
Lucien 's  great  beauty  taught  Coralie  to  express  the  thoughts 
in  her  heart. 

"  I  should  love  you  if  you  were  ill  and  ugly,"  she  whispered 
as  they  sat  down. 

What  a  saying  for  a  poet !      Camusot  vanished  utterly. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  179 

Lucien  had  forgotten  his  existence,  he  saw  Coralie,  and  had 
eyes   for    nothing   else.       How  should    he   draw   back — this 
creature,   all  sensation,  all    enjoyment  of  life,   tired   of  the 
monotony  of  existence  in  a  country  town,  weary  of  poverty, 
harassed  by  enforced  continence,  impatient  of  the  claustral 
life  of  the  Rue  de  Cluny,  of  toiling  without  reward  ?     The 
fascination  of  the  underworld  of  Paris  was  upon  him  ;  how 
should  he  rise  and  leave  this  brilliant  gathering?      Lucien 
stood  with  one  foot  in  Coralie's  chamber  and  the  other  in  the 
quicksands  of  journalism.     After  so  much  vain   search  and 
climbing  of  so  many  stairs,  after  standing  about  and  waiting 
in  the  Rue  de  Sentier,  he  had  found  journalism  a  jolly  boon 
companion,  joyous  over  the  wine.     His  wrongs  had  just  been 
avenged.     There  were  two  for  whom  he  had  vainly  striven  to 
fill  the  cup  of  humiliation  and  pain  which  he  had  been  made  to 
drink  to  the  dregs,  and  now  to-morrow  they  should  receive  a 
stab   in    their  very  hearts.     "Here  is  a   real   friend!"   he 
thought,  as  he  looked  at  Lousteau.    It  never  crossed  his  mind 
that  Lousteau  already  regarded  him  as  a  dangerous  rival.     He 
had  made  a  blunder ;  he  had  done  his  very  best  when  a  color- 
less article  would  have  served  him  admirably  well.    Blondet's 
remark  to  Finot,  that  it  would  be  better  to  come  to  terms 
with  a  man   of  that  calibre,    had    counteracted    Lousteau's 
gnawing  jealousy.     He  reflected  that  it  would  be  prudent  to 
keep  on  good  terms   with   Lucien,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to 
arrange  with  Finot  to  exploit  this  formidable  new-comer — he 
must  be  kept  in   poverty.     The  decision  was  made  in  a  mo- 
ment and  the  bargain  made  in  a  few  whispered  words. 

"He  has  talent." 

"  He  will  want  the  more." 

"Ah?" 

"Good!" 

"  A  supper  among  French  journalists  always  fills  me  with 
dread,"  said  the  German  diplomatist,  with  serene  urbanity ; 
he  looked  as  he  spoke  at  Blondet,  whom  he  had  met  at  the 


180  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

Comtesse  de  Montcornet's.  "  It  is  laid  upon  you,  gentlemen, 
to  fulfill  the  prophecy  of  BlUcher's." 

*' What  prophecy  ?  "  asked  Nathan. 

**  When  Bliicher  and  Sacken  arrived  on  the  heights  of 
Montmartre  in  1814  (pardon  me,  gentlemen,  for  recalling  a 
day  unfortunate  for  France),  Sacken  (a  rough  brute),  re- 
marked, *  Now  we  will  set  Paris  alight  !  '  *  Take  very  good 
care  that  you  don't,'  said  Bliicher.  '  France  will  die  of  thai, 
nothing  else  can  kill  her,'  and  he  waved  his  hand  over  the 
glowing,  seething  city,  that  lay  like  a  huge  canker  in  the 
valley  of  the  Seine.  There  are  no  journalists  in  our  country, 
thank  heaven  !  "  continued  the  minister,  after  a  pause.  "I 
have  not  yet  recovered  from  the  fright  that  little  fellow  gave 
me,  a  boy  of  ten,  in  a  paper-cap,  with  the  sense  of  an  old 
diplomatist.  And  to-night  I  feel  as  if  I  were  supping  with 
lions  and  panthers,  who  graciously  sheathe  their  claws  in  my 
honor." 

"  It  is  clear,"  said  Blondet,  "  that  we  are  at  liberty  to  in- 
form Europe  that  a  serpent  dropped  from  your  excellency's 
lips  this  evening,  and  that  the  venomous  creature  failed  to 
inoculate  Mademoiselle  Tullia,  the  prettiest  dancer  in  Paris  ; 
and  to  follow  up  the  story  with  a  commentary  on  Eve,  and 
the  Scriptures,  and  the  first  and  last  transgression.  But  have 
no  fear,  you  are  our  guest." 

'*  It  would  be  funny,"   said  Finot. 

"  We  would  begin  with  a  scientific  treatise  on  all  the 
serpents  found  in  the  human  heart  and  human  body,  and  so 
proceed  to  the  diplomatic  corps,"  said  Lousteau. 

"And  we  could  exhibit  one  in  spirits,  in  a  bottle  of  bran- 
died  cherries,"  said  Vernou. 

"Till  you  yourself  would  end  by  believing  in  the  story," 
added  Vignon,  looking  at  the  diplomatist. 

"Gentlemen,"  cried  the  Due  de  Rh6tor6,  'Met  sleeping 
claws  lie." 

"The  influence  and  power  of  the  press  is  only  dawning," 


A  .PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  181 

said  Finot.  "  Journalism  is  in  its  infancy;  it  will  grow.'  In 
ten  years'  time  everything  will  be  brought  into  publicity.  The 
light  of  thought  will  be  turned  on  all  subjects,  and " 

"The  blight  of  thought  will  be  over  it  all,"  corrected 
Blondet. 

"  Here  is  an  apophthegm,"  cried  Claud  Vignon. 

**  Thought  will  make  kings,"  said  Lousteau. 

"And  undo  monarchs,"  said  the  German. 

"And,  therefore,"  said  Blondet,  "if  the  press  did  not  exist, 
it  would  be  necessary  to  invent  it  forthwith.  But  here  we 
have  it,  and  live  by  it." 

"You  will  die  of  it,"  returned  the  German  diplomatist. 
"  Can  you  not  see  that  if  you  enlighten  the  masses  and  raise 
them  in  the  political  scale,  you  make  it  all  the  harder  for  the 
individual  to  rise  above  their  level  ?  Can  you  not  see  that  if 
you  sow  the  seeds  of  reasoning  among  the  working-classes, 
you  will  reap  revolt,  and  be  the  first  to  fall  victims  ?  What 
do  they  smash  in  Paris  when  a  riot  begins?  " 

"  The  street-lamps,"  said  Nathan,  in  reply  to  the  German  ; 
"but  we  are  too  modest  to  fear  for  ourselves,  we  only  run  the 
risk  of  cracks." 

"As  a  nation  you  have  too  much  mental  activity  to  allow 
any  government  to  run  its  course  without  interference.  But 
for  that,  you  would  make  the  conquest  of  Europe  a  second 
time,  and  win  with  the  pen  all  that  you  failed  to  keep  with 
the  sword." 

"Journalism  is  an  evil,"  said  Claud  Vignon.  "  The  evil 
may  have  its  uses,  but  the  present  government  is  resolved  to 
put  it  down.  There  will  be  a  battle  over  it.  Who  will  give 
way?     That  is  the  question." 

"  The  government  will  give  way,"  said  Blondet,  "  I  keep 
telling  people  that  with  all  my  might !  Intellectual  power  is 
the  great  power  in  France  ;  and  the  press  has  more  wit  than 
all  men  of  intellect  put  together,  and  the  hypocrisy  of  Tartufe 
beside." 


182  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

"  Blondet !  Blondet  !  you  are  going  too  far  !  "  called  Finot. 
"  Subscribers  are  present." 

"  You  are  the  proprietor  of  one  of  these  poison  shops  !  you 
have  reason  to  be  afraid  ;  but  I  can  laugh  at  the  whole  business, 
even  if  I  live  by  it," 

"Blondet  is  right,"  said  Claud  Vignori.  "Journalism,  so 
far  from  being  in  the  hands  of  a  priesthood,  came  to  be  first 
a  party  weapon,  and  then  a  commercial  speculation,  carried 
on  without  conscience  or  scruple,  like  other  commercial  specu- 
lations. Every  newspaper,  as  Blondet  says,  is  a  shop  to  which 
people  come  for  opinions  of  the  right  shade.  If  there  was  a 
paper  for  hunchbacks,  it  would  set  forth  plainly,  morning  and 
evening,  in  its  columns,  the  beauty,  the  utility,  and  necessity 
of  deformity.  A  newspaper  is  not  supposed  to  enlighten  its 
readers,  but  to  supply  them  with  congenial  opinions.  Give 
any  newspaper  time  enough,  and  it  will  be  base,  hypocritical, 
shameless,  and  treacherous ;  the  periodical  press  will  be  the 
death  of  ideas,  systems,  and  individuals  ;  nay,  it  will  flourish 
upon  their  decay.  It  will  take  the  credit  of  all  creations  of 
the  brain  ;  the  harm  that  it  does  is  done  anonymously.  We, 
for  instance — I,  Claud  Vignon ;  you,  Blondet ;  you,  Lousteau ; 
and  you,  Finot — we  are  all  Platos,  Aristides,  and  Catos, 
Plutarch's  men,  in  short;  we  are  all  immaculate;  we  may 
wash  our  hands  of  all  iniquity.  Napoleon's  sublime  aphorism, 
suggested  by  his  study  of  the  convention,  '  No  one  individual 
is  responsible  for  a  crime  committed  collectively,'  sums  up 
the  whole  significance  of  a  phenomenon,  moral  or  immoral, 
whichever  you  please.  However  shamefully  a  newspaper  may 
behave,  the  disgrace  attaches  to  no  one  person." 

"  The  authorities  will  resort  to  repressive  legislation,"  inter- 
posed du  Bruel.     "A  law  is  going  to  be  passed,  in  fact." 

"  Pooh  !  "  retorted  Nathan.  "  What  is  the  law  in  France 
against  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  received,  the  most  subtle  of 
all  solvents?" 

**  Ideas  and  opinions  can  only  be  counteracted  by  opinions 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  188 

and  ideas,"  Vignon  continued.  "By  sheer  terror  and  des- 
potism, and  by  no  other  means,  can  you  extinguish  the  genius 
of  the  French  nation  ;  for  the  language  lends  itself  admirably 
to  allusion  and  ambiguity.  Epigram  breaks  out  the  more  for 
repressive  legislation  ;  it  is  like  steam  in  an  engine  without  a 
safety-valve.  The  King,  for  example,  does  right ;  if  a  news- 
paper is  against  him,  the  minister  gets  all  the  credit  of  the 
measure,  and  vice  versa.  A  newspaper  invents  a  scandalous 
libel — it  has  been  misinformed.  If  the  victim  complains,  the 
paper  gets  off  with  an  apology  for  taking  so  great  a  freedom. 
If  the  case  is  taken  into  court,  the  editor  complains  that  no- 
body asked  him  to  rectify  the  mistake ;  but  ask  for  redress, 
and  he  will  laugh  in  your  face  and  treat  his  offense  as  a  mere 
trifle.  The  paper  scoffs  if  the  victim  gains  the  day ;  and  if 
heavy  damages  are  awarded,  the  plaintiff  is  held  up  as  an 
unpatriotic  obscurantist  and  a  menace  to  the  liberties  of  the 
country.  In  the  course  of  an  article  purporting  to  explain 
that  Monsieur  So-and-so  is  as  honest  a  man  as  you  will  find  in 
the  kingdom,  you  are  informed  that  he  is  no  better  than  a 
common  thief.  The  sins  of  the  press  ?  Pooh  !  mere  trifles ; 
the  curtailers  of  its  liberties  are  monsters  ;  and  give  him  time 
enough,  the  constant  reader  is  persuaded  to  believe  anything 
you  please.  Everything  which  does  not  suit  the  newspaper 
will  be  unpatriotic,  and  the  press  will  be  infallible.  One 
religion  will  be  played  off  against  another,  and  the  charter 
against  the  King.  The  press  will  hold  up  the  magistracy  to 
scorn  for  meting  out  rigorous  justice  to  the  press,  and  ap- 
plaud its  action  when  it  serves  the  cause  of  party  hatred. 
The  most  sensational  fictions  will  be  invented  to  increase  the 
circulation  ;  journalism  will  descend  to  mountebanks'  tricks 
worthy  of  BobSche  ;  journalism  would  serve  up  its  father  with 
the  attic  salt  of  its  own  wit  sooner  than  fail  to  interest  or 
amuse  the  public ;  journalism  will  outdo  the  actor  who  put 
his  son's  ashes  into  the  urn  to  draw  real  tears  from  his  eyes, 
or  the  mistress  who  sacrifices  everything  to  her  lover." 


184  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

"Journalism  is,  in  fact,  the  people  in  folio  form,"  inter- 
rupted Blondet. 

**  The  people  with  hypocrisy  added  and  generosity  lacking," 
said  Vignon.  "All  real  ability  will  be  driven  out  from  the 
ranks  of  journalism,  as  Aristides  was  driven  into  exile  by  the 
Athenians.  We  shall  see  newspapers  started  in  the  first  in- 
stance by  men  of  honor,  falling  sooner  or  later  into  the  hands 
of  men  of  abilities  even  lower  than  the  average,  but  endowed 
with  the  resistance  and  flexibility  of  india-rubber,  qualities 
denied  to  noble  genius ;  nay,  perhaps  the  future  newspaper 
proprietor  will  be  the  tradesman  with  capital  sufficient  to  buy 
venal  pens.  We  see  such  things  already  indeed,  but  in  ten 
years'  time  every  little  youngster  that  has  left  school  will  take 
himself  for  a  great  man,  slash  his  predecessors  from  the  lofty 
height  of  a  newspaper  column,  drag  them  down  by  the  feet, 
and  take  their  place. 

*'  Napoleon  did  wisely  when  he  muzzled  the  press.  I 
would  wager  that  the  opposition  papers  would  batter  down  a 
government  of  their  own  setting  up,  just  as  they  are  battering 
the  present  government,  if  any  demand  was  refused.  The 
more  they  have,  the  more  they  will  want  in  the  way  of  con- 
cessions. The  parvenu  journalist  will  be  succeeded  by  the 
starveling  hack.  There  is  no  salve  for  this  sore.  It  is  a  kind 
of  corruption  which  grows  more  and  more  obtrusive  and 
malignant ;  the  wider  it  spreads,  the  more  patiently  it  will 
be  endured,  until  the  day  comes  when  newspapers  shall  so 
increase  and  multiply  in  the  earth  that  confusion  will  be  the 
result — a  second  Babel.  We,  all  of  us,  such  as  we  are,  have 
reason  to  know  that  crowned  kings  are  less  ungrateful  than 
kings  of  our  profession  ;  that  the  most  sordid  man  of  business 
is  not  so  mercenary  nor  so  keen  in  speculation  ;  that  our 
brains  are  consumed  to  furnish  their  daily  supply  of  poisonous 
trash.  And  yet  we,  all  of  us,  will  continue  to  write,  like 
men  who  work  in  quicksilver  mines,  knowing  that  they  are 
doomed  to  die  of  their  trade. 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  185 

•*■ 

**  Look  there,"  he  continued,  "  at  that  young  man  sitting 
beside  Coralie — what  is  his  name?  Lucien  !  He  has  a 
beautiful  face  ;  he  is  a  poet ;  and  what  is  more,  he  is  witty — 
so  much  the  better  for  him.  Well,  he  will  cross  the  threshold 
of  one  of  those  dens  where  a  man's  intellect  is  prostituted; 
he  will  put  all  his  best  and  finest  thought  into  his  work  ;  he 
will  blunt  his  intellect  and  sully  his  soul ;  he  will  be  guilty  of 
anonymous  meannesses  which  take  the  place  of  stratagem, 
pillage,  and  ratting  to  the  enemy  in  the  warfare  oi  condottieri. 
And  when,  like  hundreds  more,  he  has  squandered  his  genius 
in  the  service  of  others  who  find  the  capital  and  do  no  work, 
those  dealers  in  poisons  will  leave  him  to  starve  if  he  is 
thirsty,  and  to  die  of  thirst  if  he  is  starving." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Finot. 

"But,  dear  me,"  continued  Claud  Vignon,  **/  knew  all 
this,  yet  here  am  I  in  the  galleys,  and  the  arrival  of  another 
convict  gives  me  pleasure.  We  are  cleverer,  Blondet  and  I, 
than  Messieurs  This  and  That,  who  speculate  in  our  abilities, 
yet  nevertheless  we  are  always  exploited  by  them.  We  have 
a  heart  somewhere  beneath  the  intellect ;  we  have  not  the 
grim  qualities  of  the  man  who  makes  others  work  for  him. 
We  are  indolent,  we  like  to  look  on  at  the  game,  we  are 
meditative,  and  we  are  fastidious  ;  they  will  sweat  our  brains 
and  blame  us  for  improvidence." 

**  I  thought  you  would  be  more  amusing  than  this  !  "  said 
Florine. 

"Florine  is  right,"  said  Blondet;  "let  us  leave  the  cure 
of  public  evils  to  those  quacks  the  statesmen.  As  Charlet 
says,  '  Quarrel  with  my  own  bread  and  butter?    Never  /'  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  Vignon  puts  me  in  mind  of?"  said 
Lousteau.  "  Of  one  of  those  fat  women  in  the  Rue  du  Peli- 
can telling  a  school-boy,  *  My  boy,  you  are  too  young  to  come 
here.'  " 

A  burst  of  laughter  followed  the  sally,  but  it  pleased  Cora- 
lie.     The  merchants  meanwhile  ate  and  drank  and  listened, 


186  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

"  What  a  nation  this  is  !  You  see  so  much  good  in  it  and 
so  much  evil,"  said  the  minister,  addressing  the  Due  de  Rhe- 
tor6.  "You  are  prodigals  who  cannot  ruin  yourselves,  gentle- 
men." 

And  so,  by  the  blessing  of  chance,  Lucien,  standing  on  the 
brink  of  the  precipice  over  which  he  was  destined  to  fall, 
heard  warnings  on  all  sides.  D'Arthez  had  set  him  on  the 
right  road,  had  shown  him  the  noble  method  of  work  and 
aroused  in  him  the  spirit  before  which  all  obstacles  disappear. 
Lousteau  himself  (partly  from  selfish  motives)  had  tried  to 
warn  him  away  by  describing  journalism  and  literature  in 
their  practical  aspects.  Lucien  had  refused  to  believe  that 
there  could  be  so  much  hidden  corruption  ;  but  now  he  had 
heard  the  journalists  themselves  crying  woe  for  their  hurt,  he 
had  seen  them  at  their  work,  had  watched  them  tearing  their 
foster-mother's  heart  to  read  auguries  of  the  future. 

That  evening  he  had  seen  things  as  they  are.  He  beheld 
the  very  heart's  core  of  corruption  of  that  Paris  which  Blu- 
cher  so  aptly  described ;  and,  so  far  from  shuddering  at  the 
sight,  he  was  intoxicated  with  enjoyment  of  the  intellectually 
stimulating  society  in  which  he  found  himself. 

These  extraordinary  men,  clad  in  armor  damascened  by 
their  vices,  these  intellects  environed  by  cold  and  brilliant 
analysis,  seemed  so  far  greater  in  his  eyes  than  the  grave  and 
earnest  members  of  the  brotherhood.  And,  beside  all  this, 
he  was  reveling  in  his  first  taste  of  luxury;  he  had  fallen 
under  the  spell.  His  capricious  instincts  awoke;  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  drank  exquisite  wines,  this  was  his  first  ex- 
perience of  cookery  carried  to  the  pitch  of  a  fine  art.  A 
minister,  a  duke,  and  an  opera-dancer  had  joined  the  party 
of  journalists,  and  wondered  at  their  sinister  power.  Lucien 
felt  a  horrible  craving  to  reign  over  these  kings,  and  he 
thought  that  he  had  power  to  win  his  kingdom.  Finally, 
there  was  this  Coralie,  made  happy  by  a  few  words  of  his.  By 
the  bright  light  of  the  wax-candles,  through  the  steam  of  the 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  187 

dishes  and  the  fumes  of  wine,  she  looked  sublimely  beautiful 
to  his  eyes,  so  fair  had  she  grown  with  love.  She  was  the 
loveliest,  the  most  beautiful  actress  in  Paris,  The  brother- 
hood, the  heaven  of  noble  thoughts,  faded  away  before  a 
temptation  that  appealed  to  every  fibre  of  his  nature.  How 
could  it  have  been  otherwise?  Lucien's  author's  vanity  had 
just  been  gratified  by  the  praises  of  those  who  know ;  by  the 
appreciation  of  his  future  rivals ;  the  success  of  his  articles 
and  his  conquest  of  Coralie  might  have  turned  an  older  head 
than  his. 

During  the  discussion,  moreover,  every  one  at  table  had 
made  a  remarkably  good  supper,  and  such  wines  are  not  met 
with  every  day.  Lousteau,  sitting  beside  Camusot,  furtively 
poured  cherry-brandy  several  times  into  his  neighbor's  wine- 
glass, and  challenged  him  to  drink.  And  Camusot  drank, 
all  unsuspicious,  for  he  thought  himself,  in  his  own  way,  a 
match  for  a  journalist.  The  jokes  became  more  personal 
when  dessert  appeared  and  the  wine  began  to  circulate.  The 
German  minister,  a  keen-witted  man  of  the  world,  made  a 
sign  to  the  Duke  and  Tullia,  and  the  three  disappeared  with 
the  first  symptoms  of  vociferous  nonsense  which  precede  the 
grotesque  scenes  of  an  orgie  in  its  final  stage.  Coralie  and 
Lucien  had  been  behaving  like  children  all  the  evening ;  as 
soon  as  the  wine  was  uppermost  in  Camusot's  head  they 
made  good  their  escape  down  the  staircase  and  sprang  into  a 
cab.  Camusot  subsided  under  the  table ;  Matifat,  looking 
round  for  him,  thinking  that  he  had  gone  home  with  Coralie, 
left  his  guests  to  smoke,  laugh,  and  argue,  and  followed 
Florine  to  her  room.  Daylight  surprised  the  party,  or,  more 
accurately,  the  first  dawn  of  light  discovered  one  man  still 
able  to  speak,  and  Blondet,  that  intrepid  champion,  was  pro- 
posing to  the  assembled  sleepers  a  health  to  Aurora  the  rosy- 
fingered. 

Lucien  was  unaccustomed  to  orgies  of  this  kind.  His  head 
was  very  tolerably  clear  as  he  came  down  the  staircase,  but 


188  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

the  fresh  air  was  too  much  for  him  ;  he  was  horribly  drunk. 
When  they  reached  the  handsome  house  in  the  Rue  de  Ven- 
dome,  where  the  actress  lived,  Coralie  and  her  waiting-woman 
were  obliged  to  assist  the  poet  to  climb  to  the  second  floor. 
Lucien  was  ignominiously  sick,  and  very  nearly  fainted  on 
the  staircase. 

"  Quick,  Berenice,  some  tea  !  Make  some  tea,"  cried  Cor- 
alie. 

"It  is  nothing;  it  is  the  air,"  Lucien  got  out,  "and  I 
have  never  taken  so  much  before  in  my  life." 

"  Poor  boy  !  He  is  as  innocent  as  a  lamb,"  said  Berenice, 
a  stalwart  Norman  peasant-woman  as  ugly  as  Coralie  was 
pretty.  Lucien,  half-unconscious,  was  laid  at  last  in  bed. 
Coralie,  with  Berenice's  assistance,  undressed  the  poet  with 
all  a  mother's  tender  care. 

*'  It  is  nothing,"  he  murmured  again  and  again.  "  It  is  the 
air.     Thank  you,  mamma." 

**  How  charmingly  he  says  '  mamma,'  "  cried  Coralie,  put- 
ting a  kiss  on  his  hair. 

"  What  happiness  to  love  such  an  angel,  mademoiselle  ! 
Where  did  you  pick  him  up?  I  did  not  think  a  man  could 
be  as  beautiful  as  you  are,"  said  Berenice,  when  Lucien  lay 
in  bed.  He  was  very  drowsy ;  he  knew  nothing  and  saw 
nothing ;  Coralie  made  him  swallow  several  cups  of  tea,  and 
left  him  to  sleep. 

"  Did  the  porter  see  us  ?  Was  there  any  one  else  about  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  No  ;  I  was  sitting  up  for  you." 

"Does  Victoire  know  anything  ?  " 

"  Rather  not !  "  returned  B6r6nice. 

Ten  hours  later  Lucien  awoke  to  meet  Coralie's  eyes.  She 
had  watched  by  him  as  he  slept ;  he  knew  it,  poet  that  he  was. 
It  was  almost  noon,  but  she  still  wore  the  delicate  dress, 
abominably  stained,  which  she  meant  to  lay  up  as  a  relic. 
Lucien  understood  all  the  self-sacrifice  and  delicacy  of  love, 


A   PROVINCIAL    AT  PARIS.  189 

fain  of  its  reward.  He  looked  into  Coralie's  eyes.  In  a 
moment  she  had  flung  off  her  clothing  and  slipped  like  a 
serpent  to  Lucien's  side. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Lucien  was  still  sleeping, 
cradled  in  this  voluptuous  paradise.  He  had  caught  glimpses 
of  Coralie's  chamber,  an  exquisite  creation  of  luxury,  a  world 
of  rose-color  and  white.  He  had  admired  Fiorina's  apart- 
ments, but  this  surpassed  them  in  its  dainty  refinement. 

Coralie  had  already  risen ;  for,  if  she  was  to  play  her  part 
as  the  Andalusian,  she  must  be  at  the  theatre  by  seven  o'clock. 
Yet  she  had  returned  to  gaze  at  the  unconscious  poet,  lulled 
to  sleep  in  bliss ;  she  could  not  drink  too  deeply  of  this  love 
that  rose  to  rapture,  drawing  close  the  bond  between  the  heart 
and  the  senses,  to  steep  both  in  ecstasy.  For  in  that  apothe- 
osis of  human  passion,  which  of  those  that  were  twain  on  earth 
that  they  might  know  bliss  to  the  full  creates  one  soul  to  rise 
to  love  in  heaven,  lay  Coralie's  justification.  Who,  more- 
over, would  not  have  found  excuse  in  Lucien's  more  than 
human  beauty?  To  the  actress  kneeling  by  the  bedside, 
happy  in  the  love  within  her,  it  seemed  that  she  had  received 
love's  consecration.  Berenice  broke  in  upon  Coralie's  rap- 
ture. 

"  Here  comes  Camusot !  "  cried  the  maid.  "And  he  knows 
that  you  are  here." 

Lucien  sprang  up  at  once.  Innate  generosity  suggested 
that  he  was  doing  Coralie  an  injury.  Berenice  drew  aside 
a  curtain,  and  he  fled  into  a  dainty  dressing-room,  whither 
Coralie  and  the  maid  brought  his  clothes  with  magical  speed. 

Camusot  appeared,  and  only  then  did  Coralie's  eyes  alight 
on  Lucien's  boots,  warming  in  the  fender.  Berenice  had 
privately  varnished  them  and  put  them  before  the  fire  to  dry; 
and  both  mistress  and  maid  alike  forgot  that  tell-tale  witness. 
Berenice  left  the  room  with  a  scared  glance  at  Coralie.  Coralie 
flung  herself  into  the  depths  of  a  settee,  and  bade  Camusot 
seat  himself  in  the  gondole,  a  round-backed  chair  that  stood 


190  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

opposite.  But  Coralie's  adorer,  honest  soul,  dared  not  look 
his  mistress  in  the  face ;  he  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  the 
pair  of  boots. 

"Ought  I  to  make  a  scene  and  leave  Coralie?"  he  pon- 
derered.  "Is  it  worth  while  to  make  a  fuss  about  a  trifle? 
There  is  a  pair  of  boots  wherever  you  go.  These  would  be 
more  in  place  in  a  store  window  or  taking  a  walk  on  the  boule- 
vard on  somebody's  feet ;  here,  however,  without  a  pair  of 
feet  in  them,  they  tell  a  pretty  plain  tale.  I  am  fifty  years 
old,  and  that  is  the  truth ;  I  ought  to  be  as  blind  as  Cupid 
himself." 

There  was  no  excuse  for  this  mean-spirited  monologue. 
The  boots  were  not  the  high-lows  at  present  in  vogue,  which 
an  unobservant  man  may  be  allowed  to  disregard  up  to  a  cer- 
tain point.  They  were  the  unmistakable,  uncompromising  hes- 
sians  then  prescribed  by  fashion,  a  pair  of  extremely  elegant 
betasseled  boots,  which  shone  in  glistening  contrast  against 
tight-fitting  trousers  invariably  of  some  light  color,  and  re- 
flected their  surroundings  like  a  mirror.  The  boots  stared 
the  honest  silk-mercer  out  of  countenance,  and,  it  must  be 
added,  they  pained  his  heart. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Coralie. 

"  Nothing." 

"Ring  the  bell,"  said  Coralie,  smiling  to  herself  at  Camu- 
sot's  want  of  spirit.  "Berenice,"  she  said,  when  the  Norman 
handmaid  appeared,  "just  bring  me  a  button-hook,  for  I  must 
put  on  these  confounded  boots  again.  Don't  forget  to  bring 
them  to  my  dressing-room  to-night." 

"What? your  boots?" faltered  Camusot,  breath- 
ing more  freely. 

"And  whose  should  they  be?"  she  demanded  haughtily. 
"Were  you  beginning  to  believe? — great  stupid  !  Oh  !  and 
he  would  believe  it,  too,"  she  went  on,  addressing  Berenice. 
"  I  have  a  man's  part  in  What's-his-name's  piece,  and  I  have 
never  worn  a  man's  clothes  in  my  life  before.     The  boot- 


"ought   I    TO  MAKE   A    SCENE   AND   LEAVE   CORALlEy?" 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  191 

maker  for  the  theatre  brought  me  these  things  to  try  if  I  could 
walk  in  them,  until  a  pair  can  be  made  to  measure.  He  put 
them  on,  but  they  hurt  me  so  much  that  I  have  taken  them 
off,  and  after  all  I  must  wear  them." 

"Don't  put  them  on  again  if  they  are  uncomfortable," 
said  Camusot,  (The  boots  had  made  him  feel  so  very  un- 
comfortable himself.) 

"  Mademoiselle  would  do  better  to  have  a  pair  made  of 
very  thin  morocco,  sir,  instead  of  torturing  herself  as  she  did 
just  now ;  but  the  management  is  so  stingy.  She  was  crying, 
sir;  if  I  was  a  man,  and  loved  a  woman,  I  wouldn't  let  her 
shed  a  tear,  I  know.  You  ought  to  order  a  pair  for  her  at 
once " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Camusot.  "Are  you  just  getting  up, 
Coralie?" 

"  Just  at  this  moment ;  I  only  came  in  at  six  o'clock  after 
looking  for  you  everywhere.  I  was  obliged  to  keep  the  cab 
for  seven  hours.  So  much  for  your  care  of  me ;  you  forget 
me  for  a  wine-bottle.  I  ought  to  take  care  of  myself  now 
when  I  am  to  play  every  night  so  long  as  the  *  Alcalde  ' 
draws.  I  don't  want  to  fall  off  after  that  young  man's  notice 
of  me." 

"That  is  a  handsome  boy,"  said  Camusot. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  I  don't  admire  men  of  that  sort;  they 
are  too  much  like  women  ;  and  they  do  not  understand  how 
to  love  like  you  stupid  old  business  men.  You  are  so  bored 
with  your  own  society." 

"Is  monsieur  dining  with  madame?"  inquired  B6r6nice 
of  Camusot. 

"  No,  my  mouth  is  clammy." 

"You  were  nicely  screwed  yesterday.  Ah  !  Papa  Camusot, 
I  don't  like  men  who  drink,  I  tell  you  at  once " 

"You  will  give  that  young  man  a  present,  I  suppose?" 
interrupted  Camusot. 

"  Oh  !  yes.     I  would  rather  do  that  than  pay  as  Florine 


192  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

does.  There,  go  away  with  you,  good-for-nothing  that  one 
loves;  or  give  me  a  carriage  to  save  time  in  future,"  Coralie 
rejoined. 

"  You  shall  go  in  your  own  carriage  to-morrow  to  your 
manager's  dinner  at  the  *  Rocher  de  Cancale.'  The  new 
piece  will  not  be  given  next  Sunday." 

'*  Come,  I  am  just  going  to  dine,"  said  Coralie,  hurrying 
Camusot  out  of  the  room. 

An  hour  later  Berenice  came  to  release  Lucien.  Berenice, 
Coralie's  companion  since  her  childhood,  had  a  keen  and 
subtle  brain  in  her  unwieldy  frame. 

"Stay  here,"  she  said.  "Coralie  is  coming  back  alone; 
she  even  talked  of  getting  rid  of  Camusot  if  he  is  in  your 
way ;  but  you  are  too  much  of  an  angel  to  ruin  her,  her 
heart's  darling  as  you  are.  She  wants  to  clear  out  of 
this,  she  says ;  to  leave  this  paradise  and  go  and  live  in 
your  garret.  Oh !  there  are  those  that  are  jealous  and 
envious  of  you,  and  they  have  told  her  that  you  haven't  a 
brass  farthing  and  live  in  the  Latin  Quarter;  and  I 
should  go,  too,  you  see,  to  do  the  housework.  But  I 
have  just  been  comforting  her,  poor  child!  I  have  been 
telling  her  that  you  were  too  clever  to  do  anything  so  silly. 
I  was  right,  wasn't  I,  sir?  Oh!  you  will  see  that  you 
are  her  darling,  her  love,  the  god  to  whom  she  gives  her 
soul ;  yonder  old  fool  has  nothing  but  the  body.  If  you  only 
knew  how  nice  she  is  when  I  hear  her  say  her  part  over ! 
My  Coralie,  my  little  pet,  she  is  !  She  deserved  that  God  in 
heaven  should  send  her  one  of  His  angels.  She  was  sick  of 
the  life.  She  was  so  unhappy  with  her  mother  that  used  to 
beat  her,  and  sold  her.  Yes,  sir,  sold  her  own  child  I  If  I 
had  a  daughter,  I  would  wait  on  her  hand  and  foot  as  I  wait 
on  Coralie ;  she  is  like  my  own  child  to  me.  These  are  the 
first  good  times  she  has  seen  since  I  have  been  with  her;  the 
first  time  that  she  has  been  really  applauded.  You  have 
written  something,  it  seems,  and  they  have  gotten  up  a  famous 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  193 

claque  for  the  second  performance.  Braulard  has  been  going 
through  the  play  with  her  while  you  were  asleep." 

*'  Who  ?  Braulard  ?  ' '  asked  Lucien ;  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  had  heard  the  name  before. 

"  He  is  the  head  of  the  claqueurs,  and  she  was  arranging 
with  him  the  places  where  she  wished  him  to  look  after  her. 
Florine  might  try  to  play  her  some  shabby  trick,  and  take  all 
for  herself,  for  all  she  calls  herself  her  friend.  There  is  such 
a  talk  about  your  article  on  the  boulevards.  Isn't  it  a  bed  fit 
for  a  prince,"  she  said,* smoothing  the  lace  bed-spread. 

She  lighted  the  wax-candles,  and,  to  Lucien's  bewildered 
fancy,  the  house  seemed  to  be  some  palace  in  the  '*  Cabinet 
des  Fees."  Camusot  had  chosen  the  richest  stuffs  from  the 
"Golden  Cocoon"  for  the  hangings  and  window  curtains. 
A  carpet  fit  for  a  king's  palace  was  spread  upon  the  floor. 
The  carving  of  the  rosewood  furniture  caught  and  imprisoned 
the  light  that  rippled  over  its  surface.  Priceless  trifles  gleamed 
from  the  white  marble  mantel.  The  rug  beside  the  bed 
was  of  swans'  skins  bordered  with  sable.  A  pair  of  little, 
black  velvet  slippers  lined  with  purple  silk  told  of  happiness 
awaiting  the  poet  of  "The  Marguerites."  A  dainty  lamp 
hung  from  the  ceiling  draped  with  silk.  The  room  was  full 
of  flowering  plants,  delicate  white  heaths  and  scentless  camel- 
lias, in  stands  marvelously  wrought.  Everything  called  up 
associations  of  innocence.  How  was  it  possible  in  these  rooms 
to  see  the  life  that  Coralie  led  in  its  true  colors?  Berenice 
noticed  Lucien's  bewildered  expression. 

"Isn't  it  nice?"  she  said  coaxingly.  "You  would  be 
more  comfortable  here,  wouldn't  you,  than  in  a  garret  ?  You 
won't  let  her  do  anything  rash?"  she  continued,  setting  a 
costly  stand  before  him,  covered  with  dishes  abstracted  from 
her  mistress'  dinner-table,  lest  the  cook  should  suspect  that 
her  mistress  had  a  lover  in  the  house. 

Lucien  made  a  good  dinner.  Berenice  waited  on  him,  the 
dishes  were  of  wrought  silver,  the  painted  porcelain  plates  had 
13 


194  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

cost  a  louis  d'or  apiece.  The  luxury  was  producing  exactly 
the  same  effect  upon  him  that  the  sight  of  a  girl  walking  the 
pavement,  with  bare  flaunting  throat  and  neat  ankles,  pro- 
duces upon  a  school-boy. 

"  How  lucky  Camusot  is !  "  cried  he. 

"  Lucky  ?  "  repeated  Berenice.  **  He  would  willingly  give 
all  that  he  is  worth  to  be  in  your  place ;  he  would  be  glad  to 
barter  his  gray  hair  for  your  golden  head." 

She  gave  Lucien  the  richest  wine  that  Bordeaux  keeps  for 
the  wealthiest  English  purchaser,  and*  persuaded  Lucien  to  go 
to  bed  to  take  a  preliminary  nap ;  and  Lucien,  in  truth,  was 
quite  willing  to  sleep  on  the  couch  that  he  had  been  admiring. 
B6r6nice  had  read  his  wish,  and  felt  glad  for  her  mistress. 

At  half-past  ten  that  night  Lucien  awoke  to  look  into  eyes 
brimming  over  with  love.  There  stood  Coralie  in  most  lux- 
urious night  attire.  Lucien  had  been  sleeping ;  Lucien  was 
intoxicated  with  love,  and  not  with  wine.  Berenice  left  the 
room  with  the  inquiry,  **  What  time  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

"  At  eleven  o'clock.  We  will  have  breakfast  in  bed.  I 
am  not  at  home  to  anybody  before  two  o'clock." 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Coralie  and  her  lover  were 
sitting  together.  The  poet,  to  all  appearance,  had  come  to 
pay  a  call.  Lucien  had  been  bathed  and  combed  and  dressed. 
Coralie  had  sent  to  CoUiau's  for  a  dozen  fine  shirts,  a  dozen 
cravats,  and  a  dozen  pocket-handkerchiefs  for  him,  as  well  as 
twelve  pairs  of  gloves  in  a  cedar-wood  box.  When  a  carriage 
stopped  at  the  door  they  both  rushed  to  the  window,  and 
watched  Camusot  alight  from  a  handsome  coupe. 

"  I  would  not  have  believed  that  one  could  so  hate  a  man 
and  luxury " 

"I  am  too  poor  to  allow  you  to  ruin  yourself  for  me,"  he 
replied.     And  thus  Lucien  passed  under  the  Caudine  Forks. 

"Poor  pet,"  said  Coralie,  holding  him  tightly  to  her, 
^*  do  you  love  me  so  much  ?  I  persuaded  this  gentleman  to  call 
on  me  this  morning,"  she  continued,  indicating  Lucien  to 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  195 

Camusot,  who  entered  the  room.  **  I  thought  that  we  might 
take  a  drive  in  the  Champs  Elysees  to  try  the  carriage." 

"Go  without  me,"  said  Camusot  in  a  melancholy  voice ; 
"I  shall  not  dine  with  you.  It  is  my  wife's  birthday,  I  had 
forgotten  that." 

"Poor  Musot,  how  badly  bored  you  will  be !  "  she  said, 
putting  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

She  was  wild  with  joy  at  the  thought  that  she  and  Lucien 
would  handsel  this  gift  together ;  she  would  drive  with  him  in 
the  new  carriage ;  and  in  her  happiness  she  seemed  to  love 
Camusot,  she  lavished  caresses  upon  him. 

'*  If  only  I  could  give  you  a  carriage  every  day  !  "  said  the 
poor  fellow. 

"  Now,  sir,  it  is  two  o'clock,"  she  said,  turning  to  Lucien, 
who  stood  in  distress  and  confusion,  but  she  comforted  him 
with  an  adorable  gesture. 

Down  the  stairs  she  went,  several  steps  at  a  time,  drawing 
Lucien  after  her;  the  elderly  merchant  following  in  their  wake 
like  a  seal  on  land,  and  quite  unable  to  catch  them  up. 

Lucien  enjoyed  the  most  intoxicating  of  pleasures ;  happi- 
ness had  increased  Coralie's  loveliness  to  the  highest  possible 
degree ;  she  appeared  before  all  eyes  an  exquisite  vision  in  her 
dainty  toilet.  All  Paris  in  the  Champs  Elys6es  beheld  the 
lovers. 

In  an  avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  they  met  a  caldche ; 
Mme.  d'Espard  and  Mme.  de  Bargeton  looked  in  surprise  at 
Lucien,  and  met  a  scornful  glance  from  the  poet.  He  saw 
glimpses  of  a  great  future  before  him  and  was  about  to  make 
his  power  felt.  He  could  fling  them  back  in  a  glance  some  of 
the  revengeful  thoughts  which  had  gnawed  his  heart  ever  since 
they  planted  them  there.  That  moment  was  one  of  the 
sweetest  in  his  life,  and  perhaps  decided  his  fate.  Once  again 
the  Furies  seized  on  Lucien  at  the  bidding  of  pride.  He  would 
reappear  in  the  world  of  Paris ;  he  would  take  a  signal  re- 
venge ;  all  the  social  pettiness  hitherto  trodden  under  foot  by 


196  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

the  worker,  the  member  of  the  brotherhood,  sprang  up  again 
afresh  in  his  soul. 

Now  he  understood  all  that  Lousteau's  attack  had  meant. 
Lousteau  had  served  his  passions ;  while  the  brotherhood,  that 
collective  mentor,  had  seemed  to  mortify  them  in  the  interests 
of  tiresome  virtues  and  work  which  began  to  look  useless  and 
hopeless  in  Lucien's  eyes.  Work  !  What  is  it  but  death  to 
an  eager  pleasure-loving  nature  ?  And  how  easy  it  is  for  the 
man  of  letters  to  slide  into  a  far  niente  existence  of  self- 
indulgence,  into  the  luxurious  ways  of  actresses  and  women 
of  easy  virtues  !  Lucien  felt  an  overmastering  desire  to  con- 
tinue the  reckless  life  of  the  last  two  days. 

The  dinner  at  the  "  Rocher  de  Cancale  "  was  exquisite.  All 
Florine's  supper  guests  were  there  except  the  minister,  the 
Duke,  and  the  dancer ;  Camusot,  too,  was  absent ;  but  these 
gaps  were  filled  by  two  famous  actors  and  Hector  Merlin  and 
his  mistress.  This  charming  woman,  who  chose  to  be  known 
as  Mme.  du  Val-Noble,  was  the  handsomest  and  most  fash- 
ionable of  the  class  of  women  now  euphemistically  styled 
lorettes. 

Lucien  had  spent  the  forty-eight  hours  since  the  success  of 
his  article  in  paradise.  He  was  fSted  and  envied  ;  he  gained 
self-possession  ;  his  talk  sparkled  ;  he  was  the  brilliant  Lucien 
de  Rubempre  who  shone  for  a  few  months  in  the  world  of 
letters  and  art.  Finot,  with  his  infallible  instinct  for  discov- 
ing  ability,  scenting  it  afar  as  an  ogre  might  scent  human 
flesh,  cajoled  Lucien,  and  did  his  best  to  secure  a  recruit  for 
the  squadron  under  his  command.  And  Coralie  watched  the 
manoeuvres  of  this  purveyor  of  brains,  saw  that  Lucien  was 
nibbling  at  the  bait,  and  tried  to  put  him  on  his  guard. 

**  Don't  make  any  engagement,  dear  boy ;  wait.  They 
want  to  exploit  you  ;  we  will  talk  of  it  to-night." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Lucien.  *'  I  am  sure  I  am  quite  as  sharp 
and  shrewd  as  they  can  be." 

Finot  and  Hector  Merlin  evidently  had  not  fallen  out  over 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  197 

«■ 

that  affair  of  the  white  lines  and  spaces  in  the  columns,  for  it 
was  Finot  who  introduced  Lucien  to  the  journalist.  Coralie 
and  Mme.  du  Val-Noble  were  overwhelmingly  amiable  and 
polite  to  each  other,  and  Mme.  du  Val-Noble  asked  Lucien 
and  Coralie  to  dine  with  her. 

Hector  Merlin,  short  and  thin,  with  lips  always  tightly 
compressed,  was  the  most  dangerous  journalist  present.  Un- 
bounded ambition  and  jealousy  smoldered  within  him ;  he 
took  pleasure  in  the  pain  of  others,  and  fomented  strife  to 
turn  it  to  his  own  account.  His  abilities  were  but  slender, 
and  he  had  little  force  of  character ;  but  the  natural  instinct 
which  draws  the  upstart  toward  money  and  power  served  him 
as  well  as  fixity  of  purpose.  Lucien  and  Merlin  at  once  took 
a  dislike  to  one  another,  for  reasons  not  far  to  seek.  Merlin, 
unfortunately,  proclaimed  aloud  the  thoughts  that  Lucien 
kept  to  himself.  By  the  time  the  dessert  was  put  on  the  table, 
the  most  touching  friendship  appeared  to  prevail  among  the 
men,  each  one  of  whom  in  his  heart  thought  himself  a  cleverer 
fellow  than  the  rest ;  and  Lucien  as  the  new-comer  was  made 
much  of  by  them  all.  They  chatted  frankly  and  unrestrain- 
edly. Hector  Merlin,  alone  did  not  join  in  the  laughter. 
Lucien  asked  the  reason  of  his  reserve. 

"You  are  just  entering  the  world  of  letters,  I  can  see,"  he 
said  ;  "  you  are  a  journalist  with  all  your  illusions  left.  You 
believe  in  friendship.  Here  we  are  friends  or  foes,  as  it  hap- 
pens ;  we  strike  down  a  friend  with  the  weapon  which  by 
rights  should  only  be  turned  against  an  enemy.  You  will  find 
out,  before  very  long,  that  fine  sentiments  will  do  nothing  for 
you.  If  you  are  naturally  kindly,  learn  to  be  ill-natured,  to 
be  consistently  spiteful.  If  you  have  never  heard  this  golden 
rule  before,  I  give  it  you  now  in  confidence,  and  it  is  no 
small  secret.  If  you  have  a  mind  to  be  loved,  never  leave 
your  mistress  until  you  have  made  her  shed  a  tear  or  two  ; 
and  if  you  mean  to  make  your  way  in  literature,  let  other 
people  continually  feel  your  teeth ;  make  no  exception  even 


198  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS 

of  your  friends ;  wound  their  susceptibilities  and  everybody 
will  fawn  upon  you." 

Hector  Merlin  watched  Lucien  as  he  spoke,  saw  that  his 
words  went  to  the  neophyte's  heart  like  a  stab,  and  Hector 
Merlin  was  glad.  Play  followed,  Lucien  lost  all  his  money, 
and  Coralie  brought  him  away ;  and  he  forgot  for  a  while,  in 
the  delights  of  love,  the  fierce  excitement  of  the  gambler, 
which  was  to  gain  so  strong  a  hold  upon  him. 

When  he  left  Coralie  in  the  morning  and  returned  to  the 
Latin  Quarter,  he  took  out  his  purse  and  found  the  money  he 
had  lost.  At  first  he  felt  miserable  over  the  discovery,  and 
thought  of  going  back  at  once  to  return  a  gift  which  humili- 
ated him  ;  but — he  had  already  come  as  far  as  the  Rue  de  la 
Harpe ;  he  would  not  return  now  that  he  had  almost  reached 
the  Hotel  de  Cluny.  He  pondered  over  Coralie' s  forethought 
as  he  went,  till  he  saw  in  it  a  proof  of  the  maternal  love  which 
is  blended  with  passion  in  women  of  her  stamp.  For  Coralie 
and  her  like,  passion  includes  every  human  affection.  Lucien 
went  from  thought  to  thought,  and  argued  himself  into  ac- 
cepting the  gift.  **  I  love  her,"  he  said  ;  "we  shall  live  to- 
gether as  husband  and  wife  ;  I  will  never  forsake  her  !  " 

What  mortal,  short  of  a  Diogenes,  could  fail  to  understand 
Lucien's  feelings  as  he  climbed  the  dirty  fetid  staircase  to  his 
lodging,  turned  the  key  that  grated  in  the  lock,  and  entered 
and  looked  around  at  the  unswept  brick  floor,  at  the  cheerless 
grate,  at  the  ugly  poverty  and  bareness  of  the  room. 

A  package  of  manuscript  was  lying  on  the  table.  It  was 
his  novel ;  a  note  from  Daniel  d'Arthez  lay  beside  it : 

**  Our  friends  are  almost  satisfied  with  your  work,  dear 
poet,"  d'Arthez  wrote.  "You  will  be  able  to  present  it  with 
more  confidence  now,  they  say,  to  friends  and  enemies.  We 
saw  your  charming  article  on  the  Panorama-Dramatique ;  you 
are  sure  to  excite  as  much  jealousy  in  the  profession  as  re- 
gret among  your  friends  here.  Daniel." 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  199 

«- 
**  Regrets !     What  does  he  mean?"    exclaimed  Lucien. 

The  polite  tone  of  the  note  astonished  him.  Was  he  to  be 
henceforth  a  stranger  to  the  brotherhood  ?  He  had  learned 
to  set  a  higher  value  on  the  good  opinion  and  the  friendship 
of  the  circle  in  the  Rue  des  Quatre- Vents  since  he  had  tasted 
of  the  delicious  fruits  offered  to  him  by  the  Eve  of  the  thea- 
trical underworld.  For  some  moments  he  stood  in  deep 
thought ;  he  saw  his  present  in  the  garret,  and  foresaw  his 
future  in  Coralie's  rooms.  Honorable  resolution  struggled 
with  temptation  and  swayed  him  now  this  way,  now  that.  He 
sat  down  and  began  to  look  through  his  manuscript,  to  see  in 
what  condition  his  friends  had  returned  it  to  him.  What  was 
his  amazement,  as  he  read  chapter  after  chapter,  to  find  his 
poverty  transmuted  into  riches  by  the  cunning  of  the  pen, 
and  the  devotion  of  the  unknown  great  men,  his  friends  of 
the  brotherhood.  Dialogue,  closely  packed,  nervous,  preg- 
nant, terse,  and  full  of  the  spirit  of  the  age,  replaced  his  con- 
versations, which  seemed  poor  and  pointless  prattle  in  com- 
parison. His  characters,  a  little  uncertain  in  the  drawing, 
now  stood  out  in  vigorous  contrast  of  color  and  relief ;  physi- 
ological observations,  due  no  doubt  to  Horace  Bianchon,  sup- 
plied links  of  interpretation  between  human  character  and 
the  curious  phenomena  of  human  life — subtle  touches  which 
made  his  men  and  women  live.  His  wordy  passages  of 
description  were  condensed  and  vivid.  The  misshapen,  ill- 
clad  child  of  his  brain  had  returned  to  him  as  a  lovely 
maiden,  with  white  robes  and  rosy-hued  girdle  and  scarf — an 
entrancing  creation.  Night  fell  and  took  him  by  surprise, 
reading  through  rising  tears,  stricken  to  earth  by  such  greatness 
of  soul,  feeling  the  worth  of  such  a  lesson,  admiring  the 
alterations,  which  taught  him  more  of  literature  and  art  than 
all  his  four  years'  apprenticeship  of  study  and  reading  and 
comparison,  A  master's  correction  of  a  line  made  upon  the 
study  always  teaches  more  than  all  the  theories  and  criticisms 
in  the  world. 


200  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"  What  friends  are  these  I  What  hearts  !  How  fortunate 
I  am!"  he  cried,  grasping  his  manuscript  tightly  and  de- 
scending the  stairs. 

With  the  quick  impulsiveness  of  a  poetic  and  mobile  tem- 
perament, he  rushed  off  to  Daniel's  lodging.  As  he  climbed 
the  stairs,  and  thought  of  these  friends,  who  refused  to  leave 
the  path  of  honor,  he  felt  conscious  that  he  was  less  worthy 
of  them  than  before.  A  voice  spoke  within  him,  telling  him 
that  if  d'Arthez  had  loved  Coralie,  he  would  have  had  her 
break  with  Camusot.  And,  beside  this,  he  knew  that  the 
brotherhood  held  journalism  in  utter  abhorrence,  and  that 
he  himself  was  already,  to  some  small  extent,  a  journalist. 
All  of  them,  except  Meyraux,  who  had  just  gone  out,  were  in 
d'Arthez's  room  when  he  entered  it,  and  saw  that  all  their 
faces  were  full  of  sorrow  and  despair. 

*'What  is  it?"  he  cried. 

"  We  have  just  heard  news  of  a  dreadful  catastrophe  ;  the 
greatest  thinker  of  the  age,  our  most  loved  friend,  who  was 
like  a  light  among  us  for  two  years " 

"  Louis  Lambert !  " 

"Has  fallen  a  victim  to  catalepsy.  There  is  no  hope  for 
him,"  said  Bianchon. 

"  He  will  die,  his  soul  wandering  in  the  skies,  his  body  un- 
conscious on  earth,"  said  Michel  Chrestien  solemnly. 

"  He  will  die  as  he  lived,"  said  d'Arthez. 

"  Love  fell  like  a  firebrand  in  the  vast  empire  of  his  brain 
and  burned  him  away,"  said  L6on  Giraud. 

"Yes,"  said  Joseph  Bridau,  "  he  has  reached  a  height  that 
we  cannot  so  much  as  see." 

^'We  are  to  be  pitied,  not  Louis,"  said  Fulgence  Ridal. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  recover,"  exclaimed  Lucien. 

**  From  what  Meyraux  has  been  telling  us,  recovery  seems 
impossible,"  answered  Bianchon.  "  Medicine  has  no  power 
over  the  change  that  is  working  in  his  brain." 

**  Yet  there  are  physical  means,"  said  d'Arthez. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  201 

■*■  .  . 

"Yes,"  said    Bianchon ;    "we   might  produce  imbecility 

instead  of  catalepsy." 

"Is  there  no  way  of  offering  another  head  to  the  spirit  of 

evil  ?    I  would  give  mine  to  save  him  !  "  cried  Michel  Chres- 

tien. 

"  And  what  would  become  of  European  federation?  "  asked 
d'Arthez. 

"Ah!  true,"  replied  Michel  Chrestien.  "Our  duty  to 
humanity  comes  first ;  to  one  man  afterward." 

"I  came  here  with  a  heart  full  of  gratitude  to  you  all," 
said  Lucien.  "You  have  changed  my  alloy  into  golden 
coin." 

"  Gratitude  !    For  what  do  you  take  us?  "  asked  Bianchon. 

"We  had  the  pleasure,"  added  Fulgence. 

"Well;  so  you  are  a  journalist,  are  you?"  asked  Leon 
Giraud.  "  The  fame  of  your  first  appearance  has  reached 
even  the  Latin  Quarter." 

"I  am  not  a  journalist  yet,"  returned  Lucien. 

"Aha !     So  much  the  better,"  said  Michel  Chrestien. 

"I  told  you  so!"  said  d'Arthez.  "Lucien  knows  the 
value  of  a  clean  conscience.  When  you  can  say  to  yourself 
as  you  lay  your  head  on  the  pillow  at  night,  *  I  have  not  sat 
in  judgment  on  another  man's  work  ;  I  have  given  pain  to  no 
one ;  I  have  not  used  the  edge  of  my  wit  to  deal  a  stab  to 
some  harmless  soul ;  I  have  sacrificed  no  one's  success  to  r. 
jest ;  I  have  not  even  troubled  the  happiness  of  imbecility ; 
I  have  not  added  to  the  burdens  of  genius ;  I  have  scorned 
the  easy  triumphs  of  epigram ;  in  short,  I  have  not  acted 
against  my  convictions,'  is  not  this  a  viaticum  that  gives  one 
daily  strength?  " 

"But  one  can  say  all  this,  surely,  and  yet  work  on  a  news- 
paper," said  Lucien.  "  If  I  had  absolutely  no  other  way  of 
earning  a  living,  I  should  certainly  come  to  this." 

"Oh !  oh  !  oh  !  "  cried  Fulgence,  his  voice  raising  a  note 
each  time  ;  "we  are  capitulating,  are  we?  " 


202  A   PROVINCIAL    AT  PARIS. 

**He  will  turn  journalist,"  L6on  Giraud  said  gravely. 
**  Oh,  Lucien,  if  you  would  only  stay  and  work  with  us  !  We 
are  about  to  bring  out  a  periodical  in  which  justice  and  truth 
shall  never  be  violated  ;  we  will  spread  doctrines  that,  per- 
haps, will  be  of  real  service  to  mankind " 

'*  You  will  not  have  a  single  subscriber,"  Lucien  broke  in 
with  Machiavellian  wisdom. 

"There  will  be  five  hundred  of  them,"  asserted  Michel 
Chrestien,  "  but  they  will  be  worth  five  hundred  thousand." 

"You  will  need  a  lot  of  capital,"  continued  Lucien. 

"  No,  only  devotion,"  said  d'Arthez. 

"Anybody  might  take  him  for  a  perfumer's  assistant," 
burst  out  Michel  Chrestien,  looking  at  Lucien's  head  and 
sniffing  comically.  "You  were  seen  driving  about  in  a  very 
smart  turnout  with  a  pair  of  thoroughbreds,  and  a  mistress  for 
a  prince,  Coralie  herself." 

"Well,  and  is  there  any  harm  in  it?  " 

"You  would  not  say  that  if  you  thought  that  there  was  no 
harm  in  it,"  said  Bianchon. 

"I  could  have  wished  Lucien  a  Beatrice,"  said  d'Arthez, 
"a  noble  woman,  who  would  have  been  a  help  to  him  in 
life " 

"But,  Daniel,"  asked  Lucien,  "love  is  love  wherever  you 
find  it,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  republican  member,  "  on  that  one  point  I 
am  an  aristocrat.  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  love  a  woman 
who  must  rub  shoulders  with  all  sorts  of  people  in  the  green- 
room ;  whom  an  actor  kisses  on  the  stage ;  she  must  lower 
herself  before  the  public,  smile  on  every  one,  lift  her  skirt  as 
she  dances,  and  dress  like  a  man,  that  all  the  world  may  see 
what  none  should  see  save  I  alone.  Or,  if  I  loved  such  a 
woman,  she  should  leave  the  stage,  and  my  love  should  cleanse 
her  from  the  stain  of  it." 

"  And  if  she  would  not  leave  the  stage?  " 

"  I  should  die  of  mortification,  jealousy,  and  all  sorts  of 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  203 

pain.  You  cannot  pluck  love  out  of  your  heart  as  you  draw 
a  tooth." 

Lucien's  face  grew  dark  and  thoughtful. 

"When  they  find  out  that  I  am  tolerating  Camusot,  how 
they  will  despise  me,"  he  thought. 

"Look  here,"  said  the  fierce  republican  with  a  humorous 
fierceness,  "  you  can  be  a  great  writer,  but  a  little  play-actor 
you  shall  never  be,"  and  he  took  up  his  hat  and  went  out. 

**  He  is  hard,  is  Michel  Chrestien,"  commented  Lucien. 

"  Hard  and  salutary,  like  the  dentist's  pincers,"  said  Bian- 
chon.  "  Michel  foresees  your  future  ;  perhaps  in  the  street, 
at  this  moment,  he  is  thinking  of  you  with  tears  in  his  eyes." 

D'Arthez  was  kind,  and  talked  comfortingly,  and  tried  to 
cheer  Lucien.  The  pqet  spent  an  hour  with  his  friends,  then 
he  went,  but  his  conscience  treated  him  hardly,  crying  to  him, 
"  You  will  be  journalist — a  journalist !  "  as  the  witch  cried  to 
Macbeth  that  he  should  be  king  hereafter  ! 

Out  on  the  street,  he  looked  up  at  d'Arthez's  windows,  and 
saw  a  faint  light  shining  in  them,  and  his  heart  sank.  A  dim 
foreboding  told  him  that  he  had  bidden  his  friends  good-by 
for  the  last  time. 

As  he  turned  out  of  the  Place  de  la  Sorbonne  into  the  Rue 
de  Cluny,  he  saw  a  carriage  at  the  door  of  his  lodging. 
Coralie  had  driven  all  the  way  from  the  Boulevard  du  Temple 
for  the  sake  of  a  moment  with  her  lover  and  a  "  good-night." 
Lucien  found  her  sobbing  in  his  garret.  She  would  be  as 
wretchedly  poor  as  her  poet,  she  wept,  as  she  arranged  his 
shirts  and  gloves  and  handkerchiefs  in  the  crazy  chest  of 
drawers.  Her  distress  was  so  real  and  so  great  that  Lucien,  but 
even  now  chidden  for  his  connection  with  an  actress,  saw 
Coralie  as  a  saint  ready  to  assume  the  hair-shirt  of  poverty. 
The  adorable  girl's  excuse  for  her  visit  was  an  announcement 
that  the  firm  of  Camusot,  Coralie,  and  Lucien  meant  to  invite 
Matifat,  Florine,  and  Lousteau  (the  second  trio)  to  supper; 
had  Lucien  any  invitations  to  issue  to  people  who  might  be 


204  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

useful  to  him?  Lucien  said  that  he  would  take  counsel  of 
Lousteau. 

A  few  moments  were  spent  together,  and  Coralie  hurried 
away.  She  spared  Lucien  the  knowledge  that  Camusot  was 
waiting  for  her  below. 

Next  morning,  at  eight  o'clock,  Lucien  went  to  Etienne 
Lousteau's  room,  found  it  empty,  and  hurried  away  to  Florine. 
Lousteau  and  Florine  settled  into  possession  of  their  new 
quarters  like  a  married  couple,  received  their  friend  in  the 
pretty  bedroom,  and  all  three  breakfasted  sumptuously  to- 
gether. After  talking  over  various  subjects,  Lucien  stated  the 
object  of  his  call  and  asked  Lousteau's  advice. 

"Why,  I  should  advise  you,  my  boy,  to  come  with  me  to 
see  Felicien  Vernou,"  said  Lousteau,  when  they  sat  at  table, 
and  Lucien  had  mentioned  Coralie's  projected  supper;  "ask 
him  to  be  of  the  party,  and  keep  well  with  him,  if  you  can 
keep  well  with  such  a  rascal.  Felicien  Vernou  does  ^feuilleton 
for  a  political  paper;  he  might  perhaps  introduce  you,  and 
you  could  blossom  out  into  leaders  in  it  at  your  ease.  It  is  a 
Liberal  paper,  like  ours;  you  will  be  a  Liberal,  that  is  the 
popular  party ;  and,  beside,  if  you  mean  to  go  over  to  the 
Ministerialists,  you  would  do  better  for  yourself  if  they  had 
reason  to  be  afraid  of  you.  Then  there  is  Hector  Merlin  and 
his  Madame  du  Val-Noble ;  you  meet  great  people  at  their 
house — dukes  and  dandies  and  millionaires;  didn't  they  ask 
you  and  Coralie  to  dine  with  them?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Lucien;  "you  are  going  too,  and  so  is 
Florine."  Lucien  and  Etienne  were  now  on  familiar  terms 
after  Friday's  debauch  and  the  dinner  at  the  "  Rocher  de 
Cancale." 

"  Very  well.  Merlin  is  on  the  paper  ;  we  shall  come  across 
him  pretty  often ;  he  is  the  chap  to  follow  close  on  Finot's 
heels.  You  would  do  well  to  pay  him  attention ;  ask  him 
and  Madame  du  Val-Noble  to  supper.  He  may  be  useful  to 
you  before  long ;  for  rancorous  people  are  always  in  need  of 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  205 

Others,  and  he  may  do  you  a  good  turn  if  he  can  reckon  on 
your  pen." 

"  Your  beginning  has  made  enough  sensation  to  smooth 
your  way,"  said  Florine;  "  take  advantage  of  it  at  once,  or 
you  will  soon  be  forgotten." 

"  The  bargain,  the  great  business,  is  concluded,"  Lousteau 
continued.  "  That  Finot,  without  a  spark  of  talent  in  him, 
is  to  be  editor  of  Dauriat's  weekly  paper,  with  a  salary  of  six 
hundred  francs  per  month,  and  owner  of  a  sixth  share,  for 
which  he  has  not  paid  one  penny.  And  I,  my  dear  fellow, 
am  now  editor  of  our  little  paper.  Everything  went  off  as  I 
expected  ;  Florine  managed  superbly,  she  could  give  points 
to  Talleyrand  himself." 

"We  have  a  hold  on  men  through  their  pleasures,"  said 
Florine,  "  while  a  diplomatist  only  works  on  their  self-love. 
A  diplomatist  sees  a  man  made  up  for  the  occasion ;  we 
know  him  in  his  moments  of  folly,  so  our  power  is  greater." 

"And  when  the  thing  was  settled,  Matifat  made  the  first 
and  last  joke  of  his  whole  druggist's  career,"  put  in  Lousteau. 
"He  said,  'This  affair  is  quite  in  my  line;  I  am  supplying 
drugs  to  the  public'  " 

"  I  suspect  that  Florine  put  him  up  to  it,"  cried  Lucien. 

"And  by  these  means,  my  little  dear,  your  foot  is  in  the 
stirrup,"  continued  Lousteau. 

"You  were  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  your  mouth,"  re- 
marked Florine.  "  What  lots  of  young  fellows  wait  for  years, 
wait  till  they  are  sick  of  waiting,  for  a  chance  to  get  an  article 
into  a  paper !  You  will  do  like  Emile  Blondet.  In  six 
months'  time  you  will  be  giving  yourself  high  and  mighty 
airs,"  she  added,  with  a  mocking  smile,  in  the  language  of 
her  class. 

"  Haven't  I  been  in  Paris  for  three  years?"  said  Lousteau, 
"  and  only  yesterday  Finot  began  to  pay  me  a  fixed  monthly 
salary  of  three  hundred  francs,  and  a  hundred  francs  per  sheet 
for  his  paper." 


206  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"  Well ;  you  are  saying  nothing  !  "  exclaimed  Florine,  with 
her  eyes  turned  on  Lucien. 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Lucien. 

"  My  dear  boy,  if  you  had  been  my  brother,  I  could  not 
have  done  more  for  you,"  retorted  Lousteau,  somewhat  net- 
tled, *'  but  I  won't  answer  for  Finot.  Scores  of  sharp  fellows 
will  besiege  Finot  for  the  next  two  days  with  offers  to  work 
for  low  pay.  I  have  promised  for  you,  but  you  can  draw 
back  if  you  like.  You  little  know  how  lucky  you  are,"  he 
added  after  a  pause.  "  All  those  in  our  set  combine  to  attack 
an  enemy  in  various  papers  and  lend  each  other  a  helping 
hand  all  round." 

"Let  us  go,  in  the  first  place,  to  Felicien  Vernou,"  said 
Lucien.  He  was  eager  to  conclude  an  alliance  with  such 
formidable  birds  of  prey. 

Lousteau  sent  for  a  cab  and  the  pair  of  friends  drove  to 
Vernou's  house,  on  a  second  floor,  up  an  alley,  in  the  Rue 
Mandar.  To  Lucien's  great  astonishment,  the  harsh,  fastid- 
ious, and  severe  critic's  surroundings  were  vulgar  to  the  last 
degree.  A  marbled  paper,  cheap  and  shabby,  with  a  mean- 
ingless pattern  repeated  at  regular  intervals,  covered  the  walls, 
and  a  series  of  aqua  tints  in  gilt  frames  decorated  the  apart- 
ment, where  Vernou  sat  at  table  with  a  woman  so  plain  that 
she  could  only  be  the  legitimate  mistress  of  the  house,  and 
two  very  small  children  perched  on  high  chairs  with  a  bar  in 
front  to  prevent  the  infants  from  tumbling  out.  Felicien 
Vernou,  in  a  cotton  dressing-gown  contrived  out  of  the  re- 
mains of  one  of  his  wife's  dresses,  was  not  over  well  pleased 
by  this  invasion. 

"Have  you  breakfasted,  Lousteau?"  he  asked,  placing  a 
chair  for  Lucien. 

"We  have  just  left  Florine;  we  have  been  breakfasting 
with  her." 

Lucien  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  Madame  Vernou.  She 
looked  like  a  stout,  homely  cook,  with  a  tolerably  fair  com- 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  207 

plexion,  but  commonplace  to  the  last  degree.  The  lady  wore 
a  bandana  tied  over  her  night-cap,  the  strings  of  the  latter 
article  of  dress  being  tied  so  tightly  under  the  chin  that  her 
puffy  cheeks  stood  out  on  either  side.  A  shapeless,  beltless 
garment,  fastened  by  a  single  button  at  the  throat,  enveloped 
her  from  head  to  foot  in  such  a  fashion  that  a  comparison  to 
a  milestone  at  once  suggested  itself.  Her  health  left  no  room 
for  hope ;  her  cheeks  were  almost  purple ;  her  fingers  looked 
like  sausages.  In  a  moment  it  dawned  upon  Lucien  how  it 
was  that  Vernou  was  always  so  ill  at  ease  in  society ;  here 
was  the  living  explanation  of  his  misanthropy.  Sick  of  his 
marriage,  unable  to  bring  himself  to  abandon  his  wife  and 
family,  he  had  yet  sufficient  of  the  artistic  temper  to  suffer 
continually  from  their  presence;  Vernou  was  an  actor  by 
nature  bound  never  to  pardon  the  success  of  another,  con- 
demned to  chronic  discontent  because  he  was  never  content 
with  himself.  Lucien  began  to  understand  the  sour  look 
which  seemed  to  add  to  the  bleak  expression  of  envy  on 
Vernou's  face ;  the  acerbity  of  the  epigrams  with  which  his 
conversation  was  sown,  the  journalist's  pungent  phrases — keen, 
polished,  and  elaborately  wrought  as  a  stiletto — were  at  once 
explained. 

"Let  us  go  into  ray  study,"  Vernou  said,  rising  from  the 
table ;  "  you  have  come  on  business,  no  doubt  ?  " 

"  Yes  and  no,"  replied  Etienne  Lousteau.  "It  is  a  supper, 
old  chap." 

**  I  have  brought  a  message,  from  Coralie,"  said  Lucien 
(Madame  Vernou  looked  up  at  once  at  the  name),  "  to  ask 
you  to  supper  to-night  at  her  house  to  meet  the  same  company 
as  before  at  Florine's,  and  a  few  more  besides — Hector  Merlin 
and  Madame  du  Val-Noble  and  some  others.  There  will  be 
play  afterward." 

"  But  we  are  engaged  to  Madame  Mahoudeau  this  evening, 
dear,"  put  in  the  wife. 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  "  returned  Vernou. 


208  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

"  She  will  take  offense  if  we  don't  go ;  and  you  are  very 
glad  of  her  when  you  have  a  bill  to  discount." 

**  This  wife  of  mine,  my  dear  boy,  can  never  be  made  to 
understand  that  a  supper  engagement  for  twelve  o'clock  does 
not  prevent  you  from  going  to  an  evening  party  that  comes 
to  an  end  at  eleven.  She  is  always  with  me  while  I  work," 
he  added. 

**  You  have  so  much  imagination!"  said  Lucien,  and 
thereby  made  a  mortal  enemy  of  Vernou. 

"Well,"  continued  Lousteau,  "  you  are  coming ;  but  that 
is  not  all.  Monsieur  de  Rubempr6  is  about  to  be  one  of  us, 
so  you  must  push  him  in  your  paper.  Give  him  out  for  a 
chap  that  will  make  a  name  for  himself  in  literature,  so  that 
he  can  put  in  at  least  a  couple  of  articles  every  month." 

"  Yes,  if  he  means  to  be  one  of  us,  and  will  attack  our 
enemies,  as  we  will  attack  his,  I  will  say  a  word  for  him  at 
the  opera  to-night,"  replied  Vernou. 

"Very  well — good-by  till  to-morrow,  my  boy,"  said  Lous- 
teau, shaking  hands  with  every  sign  of  cordiality.  **  When 
is  your  book  coming  out  ?  " 

"That  depends  on  Dauriat;  it  is  ready,"  said  Vernou 
pateffamilias. 

* '  Are  you  satisfied  ?  *  * 

"  Yes  and  no " 

"We  will  get  up  a  success,"  said  Lousteau,  and  he  rose 
with  a  bow  to  his  colleague's  wife. 

The  abrupt  departure  was  necessary  indeed  ;  for  the  two 
infants,  engaged  in  a  noisy  quarrel,  were  fighting  with  their 
spoons  and  flinging  the  pap  in  each  other's  faces. 

"  That,  my  boy,  is  a  woman  who  all  unconsciously  will 
work  great  havoc  in  contemporary  literature,"  said  Etienne, 
when  they  came  away.  "  Poor  Vernou  cannot  forgive  us  for 
his  wife.  He  ought  to  be  relieved  of  her  in  the  interests  of 
the  public ;  and  a  deluge  of  blood-thirsty  reviews  and  sting- 
ing sarcasms  against  successful  men  of  every  sort  would  be 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  209 

averted.  What  is  to  become  of  a  man  with  such  a  wife  and 
that  pair  of  abominable  brats  ?  Have  you  seen  Rigaudin  in 
Picard's  '  La  Maison  en  Loterie  ?  *  You  have  ?  Well,  like 
Rigaudin,  Vemou  will  not  fight  himself,  but  he  will  set  others 
fighting ;  he  would  give  an  eye  to  put  out  both  eyes  in  the 
head  of  the  best  friend  he  has.  You  will  see  him  using  the 
bodies  of  the  slain  for  a  stepping-stone,  rejoicing  over  every 
one's  misfortunes,  attacking  princes,  dukes,  marquises,  and 
nobles,  because  he  himself  is  a  commoner  ;  reviling  the  work 
of  unmarried  men  because  he  forsooth  has  a  wife  ;  and  ever- 
lastingly preaching  morality,  the  joys  of  domestic  life,  and  the 
duties  of  the  citizen.  In  short,  this  very  moral  critic  will 
spare  no  one,  not  even  infants  of  tender  age.  He  lives  in  the 
Rue  Mandar  with  a  wife  who  might  be  the  *  Mamamouchi ' 
of  the  *  Bourgeois  gentilhomme '  and  a  couple  of  little  Ver- 
nous  as  ugly  as  sin.  He  tries  to  sneer  at  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain,  where  he  will  never  set  foot,  and  makes  his  duchesses 
talk  like  his  wife.  That  is  the  sort  of  man  to  raise  a  howl  at 
the  Jesuits,  insult  the  court,  and  credit  the  court  party  with 
the  design  of  restoring  feudal  rights  and  the  right  of  primo- 
geniture— ^just  the  one  to  preach  a  crusade  for  equality,  he 
that  thinks  himself  the  equal  of  no  one.  If  he  were  a  bachelor, 
he  wou'd  go  into  society ;  if  he  were  in  a  fair  way  to  be  a 
royalist  poet  with  a  pension  and  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor,  he  would  be  an  optimist,  and  journalism  offers  start- 
ing-points by  the  hundred.  Journalism  is  a  giant  catapult 
set  in  motion  by  pigmy  hatreds.  Have  you  any  wish  to  marry 
after  this?  Vemou  has  none  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
in  him,  it  is  all  turned  to  gall ;  and  he  is  emphatically  the 
journalist,  a  tiger  with  two  hands  that  tears  everything  to 
pieces,  as  if  his  pen  had  the  hydrophobia." 

"It  is  a  case  of  gunophobia,"  said  Lucien.  "Has  he 
ability?" 

**  He  is  witty,  he  is  a  writer  of  articles.  He  incubates 
articles ;  he  does  that  all  his  life  and  nothing  else.  The  most 
14 


210  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

dogged  industry  would  fail  to  graft  a  book  on  his  prose. 
F6licien  is  incapable  of  conceiving  a  work  on  a  larger  scale, 
of  broad  effects,  of  fitting  characters  harmoniously  in  a  plot 
which  develops  till  it  reaches  a  climax.  He  has  ideas,  but  he 
has  no  knowledge  of  facts ;  his  heroes  are  Utopian  creatures, 
philosophical  or  liberal  notions  masquerading.  He  is  at  pains 
to  write  an  original  style,  but  his  inflated  periods  would  col- 
lapse at  a  pin-prick  from  a  critic;  and  therefore  he  goes  in 
terror  of  reviews,  like  every  one  else  who  can  only  keep  his 
head  above  water  with  the  bladders  of  newspaper  puffs." 

"  What  an  article  you  are  making  out  of  him  !  " 

"That  particular  kind,  my  boy,  must  be  spoken  and  never 
written." 

**  You  are  turning  editor,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Where  shall  I  put  you  down? " 

"At  Coralie's." 

**Ah  !  we  are  infatuated,"  said  Lousteau.  "What  a  mis- 
take !  Do  as  I  do  with  Florine,  let  Coralie  be  your  house- 
keeper, and  take  your  fling." 

"You  would  send  a  saint  to  perdition,"  laughed  Lucien. 

"Well,  there  is  no  damning  a  devil,"  quickly  retorted 
Lousteau. 

The  flippant  tone,  the  brilliant  talk  of  this  new  friend,  his 
views  of  life,  his  paradoxes,  the  axioms  of  Parisian  Machiavel- 
lism — all  these  things  impressed  Lucien  unawares.  Theo- 
retically the  poet  knew  that  such  thoughts  were  perilous ;  but 
he  believed  them  practically  useful. 

Arrived  in  the  Boulevard  du  Temple,  the  friends  agreed  to 
meet  at  the  office  between  four  and  five  o'clock.  Hector 
Merlin  would  doubtless  be  there.  Lousteau  was  right.  The 
infatuation  of  desire  was  upon  Lucien ;  for  the  courtesan 
who  loves  knows  how  to  grapple  her  lover  to  her  by  every 
weakness  in  his  nature,  fashioning  herself  with  incredible  flexi- 
bility to  his  every  wish,  encouraging  the  soft,  effeminate  habits 
which  strengthen  her  hold.     Lucien  was  thirsting  already  for 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  211 

enjoyment ;  he  was  in  love  with  the  easy,  luxurious,  and  ex- 
pensive life  which  the  actress  led. 

He  found  Coralie  and  Camusot  intoxicated  with  joy.  The 
Gyranase  offered  Coralie  an  engagement  after  Easter  on  terms 
for  which  she  had  never  dared  to  hope. 

"And  this  great  success  is  owing  to  you,"  said  Camusot. 

"  Yes,  surely.  The  'Alcalde '  would  have  fallen  flat  but 
for  him,"  cried  Coralie;  *•' if  there  had  been  no  article,  I 
should  have  been  in  for  another  six  years  of  the  boulevard 
theatres." 

She  danced  up  to  Lucien  and  flung  her  arms  around  him, 
putting  an  indescribable  silken  softness  and  sweetness  into  her 
enthusiasm.  Love  had  come  to  Coralie.  And  Camusot?  his 
eyes  fell.  Looking  down  after  the  wont  of  mankind  in  mo- 
ments of  sharp  pain,  he  saw  the  seam  of  Lucien's  boots,  a 
deep  yellow  thread  used  by  the  best  bootmakers  of  that  time, 
in  strong  contrast  with  the  glistening  leather.  The  color  of 
that  seam  had  tinged  his  thoughts  during  a  previous  conversa- 
tion with  himself,  as  he  sought  to  explain  the  presence  of  a 
mysterious  pair  of  hessians  in  Coralie's  fender.  He  remem- 
bered now  that  he  had  seen  the  name  of  "  Gay,  Rue  de  la 
Michodi^re,"  printed  in  black  letters  on  the  soft  white  kid 
lining. 

"You  have  a  handsome  pair  of  boots,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Like  everything  else  about  him,"  said  Coralie. 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  of  your  bootmaker's  address. 

"  Oh,  how  like  the  Rue  des  Bourdonnais  to  ask  for  a  trades- 
man's address,"  cried  Coralie.  "  Do  you  intend  to  patronize  a 
young  man's  bootmaker  ?  A  nice  young  man  you  would 
make !  Do  keep  to  your  own  top-boots ;  they  are  the  kind 
for  a  steady-going  man  with  a  wife  and  family  and  a  mistress." 

"  Indeed,  if  you  would  take  off"  one  of  your  boots,  sir,  I 
should  be  very  much  obliged,"  persisted  Camusot. 

"  I  could  not  get  it  on  again  without  a  button-hook," 
said  Lucien,  flushing  up. 


212  A    PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"  Berenice  will  fetch  you  one  ;  we  can  do  with  some  here," 
jeered  Camusot. 

"Papa  Camusot !  "  said  Coralie,  looking  at  him  with  cruel 
scorn,  "  have  the  courage  of  your  pitiful  baseness.  Come, 
speak  out !  You  think  that  this  gentleman's  boots  are  very 
like  mine,  do  you  not?  I  forbid  you  to  take  off  your  boots," 
she  added,  turning  to  Lucien.  "Yes,  Monsieur  Camusot. 
Yes,  you  saw  some  boots  lying  about  in  the  fender  here  the 
other  day,  and  that  is  the  identical  pair,  and  this  gentle- 
man was  hiding  in  my  dressing-room  at  the  time  waiting  for 
them ;  and  he  had  passed  the  night  here.  This  was  what  you 
were  thinking,  /idn  ?  Think  so ;  I  would  rather  you  did.  It 
is  the  simple  truth.  I  am  deceiving  you.  And  if  I  am  ?  I 
do  it  to  please  myself." 

She  sat  down.  There  was  no  anger  in  her  face,  no  embar- 
rassment ;  she  looked  from  Camusot  to  Lucien.  The  two 
men  avoided  each  other's  eyes. 

"  I  will  believe  nothing  that  you  do  not  wish  me  to  be- 
lieve," said  Camusot.  "Don't  play  with  me,  Coralie;  I 
was  wrong ' ' 

"  I  am  either  a  shameless  baggage  that  has  taken  a  sudden 
fancy ;  or  a  poor,  unhappy  girl  who  feels  what  love  really  is 
for  the  first  time,  the  love  that  all  women  long  for.  And 
whichever  way  it  is,  you  must  leave  me  or  take  me  as  I  am," 
she  said,  with  a  queenly  gesture  that  completely  crushed  the 
wretched  Camusot. 

"Is  it  really  true?  "  he  asked,  seeing  from  their  faces  that 
this  was  no  jest,  yet  begging  to  be  deceived. 

"  I  love  mademoiselle,"  Lucien  faltered  out. 

At  that  word,  Coralie  sprang  to  her  poet  and  held  him 
tightly  to  her;  then,  with  her  arms  still  about  him,  she 
turned  to  the  silk-mercer,  as  if  to  bid  him  see  the  beautiful 
picture  made  by  two  young  lovers. 

"  Poor  Musot,  take  all  that  you  gave  to  me  back  again  ;  I 
do  not  want  to  keep  anything  of  yours ;  for  I  love  this  boy 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  213 

here  madly,  not  for  his  intellect,  but  for  his  beauty.  I  would 
rather  starve  with  him  than  have  millions  with  you." 

Camusot  sank  into  a  low  chair,  hid  his  face  in  his  hands, 
and  said  not  a  word. 

**  Would  you  like  us  to  go  away?  "  she  asked.  There  was 
a  note  of  ferocity  in  her  voice  which  no  words  can  describe. 

Cold  chills  ran  down  Lucien's  spine ;  he  beheld  himself 
burdened  with  a  woman,  an  actress,  and  a  household. 

"Stay  here,  Coralie ;  keep  it  all,"  the  old  tradesman  said 
at  last,  in  a  faint,  unsteady  voice  that  came  from  his  heart ; 
"I  don't  want  anything  back.  There  is  the  worth  of  sixty 
thousand  francs  here  in  the  furniture  j  but  I  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  my  Coralie  in  want.  And  yet,  it  will  not  be  long 
before  you  come  to  want.  However  great  this  gentleman's 
talent  may  be,  he  can't  afford  to  keep  you.  We  old  fellows 
must  expect  this  sort  of  thing.  Coralie,  let  me  come  and  see 
you  sometimes  ;  I  may  be  of  use  to  you.  And — I  confess  it; 
I  cannot  live  without  you." 

The  poor  man's  gentleness,  stripped  as  he  was  of  his  happi- 
ness just  as  happiness  had  reached  its  height,  touched  Lucien 
deeply.     Coralie  was  quite  unsoftened  by  it. 

"  Come  as  often  as  you  wish,  poor  Musot,"  she  said  ;  "  I 
shall  like  you  all  the  better  when  I  don't  pretend  to  love  you." 

Camusot  seemed  to  be  resigned  to  his  fate  so  long  as  he  was 
not  driven  out  of  the  earthly  paradise,  in  which  his  life  could 
not  have  been  all  joy ;  he  trusted  to  the  chances  of  life  in 
Paris  and  to  the  temptations  that  would  beset  Lucien's  path ; 
he  would  wait  a  while,  and  all  that  had  been  his  should  be 
his  again.  Sooner  or  later,  thought  the  wily  tradesman,  this 
handsome  young  fellow  would  be  unfaithful ;  he  would  keep 
a  watch  on  him  ;  and  the  better  to  do  this  and  use  his  op- 
portunity with  Coralie,  he  would  be  their  friend.  The  per- 
sistent passion  that  could  consent  to  such  humiliation  terrified 
Lucien.  Camusot's  proposal  of  a  dinner  at  V6ry's  in  the 
Palais  Royal  was  accepted. 


214  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"What  joy  !  "  cried  Coralie,  as  soon  as  Carausot  had  de- 
parted. "  You  will  not  go  back  now  to  your  garret  in  the 
Latin  Quarter;  you  will  live  here.  We  shall  always  be 
together.  You  can  take  a  room  in  the  Rue  Chariot  for  the 
sake  of  appearances  and  vogue  la  galere/'^  (come  what  may). 
She  began  to  dance  her  Spanish  dance,  with  an  excited 
eagerness  that  revealed  the  strength  of  the  passion  in  her 
heart. 

*'  If  I  work  hard,  I  may  make  five  hundred  francs  a  month," 
Lucien  said. 

"And  I  shall  make  as  much  again  at  the  theatre,  without 
counting  extras.  Camusot  will  pay  for  my  dresses  as  before. 
He  is  fond  of  me !  We  can  live  like  Croesus  on  fifteen  hun- 
dred francs  a  month." 

"And  the  horses?  and  the  coachman?  and  the  footman?" 
inquired  Berenice. 

"I  will  get  into  debt,"  said  Coralie.  And  she  began  to 
dance  with  Lucien. 

"  I  must  close  with  Finot  after  this,"  Lucien  exclaimed. 
"There!"   said  Coralie,    "I  will  dress  and  take   you  to 
your  office.     I  will  wait  outside  in  the  boulevard  for  you  with 
the  carriage." 

Lucien  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and  made  some  very  sober  re- 
flections as  he  watched  Coralie  at  her  toilet.  It  would  have 
been  wiser  to  leave  Coralie  free  than  to  start  all  at  once  with 
such  an  establishment ;  but  Coralie  was  there  before  his  eyes, 
and  Coralie  was  so  lovely,  so  graceful,  so  bewitching,  that  the 
more  picturesque  aspects  of  bohemia  were  in  evidence,  and  he 
flung  down  the  gauntlet  to  fortune. 

Berenice  was  ordered  to  superintend  Lucien's  removal  and 
installation;  and  Coralie,  triumphant,  radiant,  and  happy, 
carried  off  her  love,  her  poet,  and  must  needs  go  all  over 
Paris  on  the  way  to  the  Rue  Saint-Fiacre.  Lucien  sprang 
lightly  up  the  staircase  and  entered  the  office  with  an  air  of 
being  quite  at  home.     Coloquinte  was  there  with  the  stamped 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  215 

«■ 
paper  still  on  his  head ;  and  old  Giroudeau  told  him  again, 
hypocritically  enough,  that  no  one  had  yet  come  in. 

"But  the  editor  and  contributors  must  meet  somewhere  or 
other  to  arrange  about  the  journal,"  said  Lucien. 

"Very  likely;  but  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  writing 
of  the  paper,"  said  the  Emperor's  captain,  resuming  his  occu- 
pation of  checking  off  wrappers  with  his  eternal  braum! 
broum  ! 

Was  it  lucky  or  unlucky  ?  Finot  chanced  to  come  in  at  that 
very  moment  to  announce  his  sham  abdication  and  to  bid 
Giroudeau  watch  over  his  interests. 

*'  No  shilly-shally  with  this  gentleman  \  he  is  on  the  staflF," 
Finot  added  for  his  uncle's  benefit,  as  he  grasped  Lucien  by 
the  hand. 

"Oh!  he  is  on  the  paper,"  exclaimed  Giroudeau,  much 
surprised  at  this  friendliness.  "  Well,  sir,  you  came  on  with- 
out much  difficulty." 

"  I  want  to  make  things  snug  for  you  here,  lest  Etienne 
should  bamboozle  you,"  continued  Finot,  looking  knowingly 
at  Lucien.  "  This  gentleman  will  be  paid  three  francs  per 
column  all  around,  including  theatres." 

"  You  have  never  taken  any  one  on  such  terms  before,"  said 
Giroudeau,  opening  his  eyes. 

"And  he  will  take  the  four  boulevard  theatres.  See  that 
nobody  sneaks  his  boxes  and  that  he  gets  his  share  of  tickets. 
I  should  advise  you,  nevertheless,  to  have  them  sent  to  your 
address,"  he  added,  turning  to  Lucien.  "And  he  agrees  to 
write  beside  ten  miscellaneous  articles  of  two  columns  each, 
for  fifty  francs  per  month,  for  one  year.  Does  that  suit 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucien.     Circumstances  had  forced  his  hand. 

"  Draw  up  the  agreement,  uncle,  and  we  will  sign  it  when 
we  come  downstairs." 

"  Who  is  the  gentleman  ?  "  inquired  Giroudeau,  rising  and 
taking  off  his  black  silk  skull-cap. 


216  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

**  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempr6,  who  wrote  the  article  on 
'The  Alcalde.'  " 

**  Young  man,  you  have  a  gold  mine  there"  said  the  old 
soldier,  tapping  Lucien  on  the  forehead.  "I  am  not  literary 
myself,  but  I  read  that  article  of  yours,  and  I  liked  it.  That 
is  the  kind  of  thing  !  There's  gaiety  for  you  !  '  That  will 
bring  us  new  subscribers,'  says  I  to  myself.  And  so  it  did. 
We  sold  fifty  more  numbers." 

**  Is  my  agreement  with  Lousteau  made  out  in  duplicate 
and  ready  to  sign?  "  asked  Finot,  speaking  aside. 

"Yes." 

"Then  antedate  this  gentleman's  agreement  by  one  day, 
so  that  Lousteau  will  be  bound  by  the  previous  contract." 

Finot  took  his  new  contributor's  arm  with  a  friendliness 
that  charmed  Lucien,  and  drew  him  out  on  the  landing  to 
say — 

"  Your  position  is  made  for  you.  I  will  introduce  you  to 
my  staff  myself,  and  to-night  Lousteau  will  go  round  with  you 
to  the  theatres.  You  can  make  a  hundred  and  fifty  francs 
per  month  on  this  little  paper  of  ours  with  Lousteau  as  its 
editor,  so  try  to  keep  well  with  him.  The  rogue  bears  a 
grudge  against  me  as  it  is,  for  tying  his  hands  so  far  as  you 
are  concerned;  but  you  have  ability,  and  I  don't  choose  that 
you  shall  be  subjected  to  the  whims  of  the  editor.  You 
might  let  me  have  a  couple  of  sheets  every  month  for  my  re- 
view, and  I  will  pay  you  two  hundred  francs.  This  is  be- 
tween ourselves,  don't  mention  it  to  anybody  else;  I  should 
be  laid  open  to  the  spite  of  every  one  whose  vanity  is  morti- 
fied by  your  good  fortune.  Write  four  articles,  fill  your  two 
sheets,  sign  two  with  your  own  name  and  two  with  a  pseu- 
donym, so  that  you  may  not  seem  to  be  taking  the  bread  out 
of  anybody  else's  mouth.  You  owe  your  position  to  Blondet 
and  Vignon  ;  they  think  that  you  have  a  future  before  you. 
So  keep  out  of  scrapes,  and,  above  all  things,  be  on  your 
guard  against  your  friends.     As  for  us,  we  shall  always  get  on 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  217 

well  together,  you"  and  I.  Help  me,  and  I  will  help  you. 
You  have  forty  francs'  worth  of  boxes  and  tickets  to  sell,  and 
sixty  francs'  worth  of  books  to  convert  into  cash.  With  that 
and  your  work  on  the  paper,  you  will  be  making  four  hundred 
and  fifty  francs  every  month.  If  you  use  your  wits,  you  will 
find  ways  of  making  another  two  hundred  francs,  at  least, 
among  the  publishers  ;  they  will  pay  you  for  reviews  and  pros- 
pectuses. But  you  are  mine,  are  you  not  ?  I  can  count  upon 
you." 

Lucien  squeezed  Finot's  hand  in  transports  of  joy  which 
no  words  can  express. 

**  Don't  let  any  one  see  that  anything  has  passed  between 
us,"  said  Finot  in  his  ear,  and  he  flung  open  a  door  of  a 
room  in  the  roof  at  the  end  of  a  long  passage  on  the  fifth  floor. 

A  table  covered  with  a  green  cloth  was  drawn  up  to  a 
blazing  fire,  and  seated  in  various  chairs  and  lounges  Lucien 
discovered  Lousteau,  Felicien  Vernou,  Hector  Merlin,  and 
two  others  unknown  to  him,  all  laughing  or  smoking.  A  real 
inkstand,  full  of  ink  this  time,  stood  on  the  table  among  a 
great  litter  of  papers ;  while  a  collection  of  pens,  the  worse 
for  wear,  but  still  serviceable  for  journalists,  told  the  new 
contributor  very  plainly  that  the  mighty  enterprise  was  carried 
on  in  this  apartment. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Finot,  "the  object  of  this  gathering 
is  the  installation  of  our  friend  Lousteau  in  my  place  as 
editor  of  the  newspaper  which  I  am  compelled  to  relinquish. 
But  although  my  opinions  will  necessarily  undergo  a  trans- 
formation when  I  accept  the  editorship  of  a  review  of  which 
the  politics  are  known  to  you,  my  convictions  remain  the 
same,  and  we  shall  be  friends  as  before.  I  am  quite  at  your 
service,  and  you  likewise  will  be  ready  to  do  anything  for  me. 
Circumstances  change ;  principles  are  fixed.  Principles  are 
the  pivot  on   which   the   hands   of  the  political   barometer 

turn."    .         r;:,:..j:: 

There  was  an  instant  shout  of  laughter. 


218  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"Who,  pray,  put  that  into  your  mouth?"  asked  Lousteau. 

"Blondet !"  said  Finot. 

"Windy,  showery,  stormy,  settled  fair,"  said  Merlin; 
"  we  will  all  row  in  the  same  boat." 

"In  short,"  continued  Finot,  "not  to  muddle  our  wits 
with  metaphors,  any  one  who  has  an  article  or  two  for  me 
will  always  find  Finot.  This  gentleman,"  turning  to  Lucien, 
"will  be  one  of  you.     I  have  arranged  with  him,  Lousteau." 

Every  one  congratulated  Finot  on  his  advance  and  new 
prospects. 

"  So  there  you  are,  mounted  on  our  shoulders,"  said  a  con- 
tributor whom  Lucien  did  not  know.  "  You  will  be  the  Janus 
of  journal " 

"  So  long  as  he  isn't  the  Janot,"  put  in  Vernou. 

"Are  you  going  to  allow  us  to  make  attacks  on  our  betes 
noires  ?  "  (wild  boars). 

"Any  one  you  like." 

"Ah,  yes  !  "  said  Lousteau;  "  but  the  paper  must  keep  on 
its  lines.  Monsieur  ChStelet  is  very  wroth  ;  we  shall  not  let 
him  off  for  a  week  yet." 

"What  has  happened?  "  asked  Lucien. 

"He  came  here  to  ask  for  an  explanation,"  said  Vernou. 
"The  imperial  buck  found  old  Giroudeau  at  home;  and  old 
Giroudeau  told  him,  with  all  the  coolness  in  the  world,  that 
Philippe  Bridau  wrote  the  article.  Philippe  asked  the  Baron 
to  mention  the  time  and  the  weapons,  and  there  it  ended. 
We  are  engaged  at  this  moment  in  offering  excuses  to  the  Baron 
in  to-morrow's  issue.     Every  phrase  is  a  stab  for  him." 

"Keep  your  teeth  in  him  and  he  will  come  round  to  me," 
said  Finot ;  "  and  it  will  look  as  if  I  was  obliging  him  by 
appeasing  you.  He  can  say  a  word  to  the  Ministry,  and  we 
can  get  something  or  other  out  of  him — an  assistant  school- 
master's place  or  a  tobacconist's  license.  It  is  a  lucky  thing 
for  us  that  we  flicked  him  on  the  raw.  Does  anybody  here 
care  to  take  a  serious  article  on  Nathan  for  my  new  paper?" 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PA  HIS.  219 

"  Give  it  to  Lucien,"  said  Lousteau.  *'  Hector  and  Vernou 
will  write  articles  in  their  papers  at  the  same  time." 

"Good-day,  gentlemen;  we  shall  meet  each  other  face  to 
face  at  Barbin's,"  said  Finot,  laughing. 

Lucien  received  some  congratulations  on  his  admission  to 
the  mighty  army  of  journalists,  and  Lousteau  explained  that 
they  could  be  sure  of  him.  "  Lucien  wants  you  all  to  sup  in 
a  body  at  the  house  of  the  fair  Coralie." 

**  Coralie  is  going  on  at  the  Gymnase,"  said  Lucien. 

"Very  well,  gentlemen;  it  is  understood  that  we  push 
Coralie,  eh  ?  Put  a  few  lines  about  her  new  engagement  in 
your  papers  and  say  something  about  her  talent.  Credit  the 
management  of  the  Gymnase  with  tact  and  discernment ;  will 
it  do  to  say  intelligence?  " 

"Yes,  say  intelligence,"  said  Merlin;  "Frederic  has  some- 
thing of  Scribe's." 

"Oh!  Well,  then,  the  manager  of  the  Gymnase  is  the 
most  perspicacious  and  far-sighted  of  men  of  business,"  said 
Vernou. 

"  Look  here  !  don't  write  your  articles  on  Nathan  until  we 
have  come  to  an  understanding;  you  shall  hear  why,"  said 
Etienne  Lousteau.  "  We  ought  to  do  something  for  our  new 
comrade.  Lucien  here  has  two  books  to  bring  out — a  volume 
of  sonnets  and  a  novel.  The  power  of  the  paragraph  should 
make  him  a  great  poet  due  in  three  months ;  and  we  will 
make  good  use  of  his  sonnets  ('  Marguerites  *  is  the  title)  to 
run  down  odes,  ballads,  and  reveries,  and  all  the  romantic 
poetry. ' ' 

"  It  would  be  a  droll  thing  if  the  sonnets  were  no  good  after 
all,"  said  Vernou.  "What  do  you  yourself  think  of  your 
sonnets,  Lucien  ?" 

"  Yes,  what  do  you  think  of  them?  "  asked  one  of  the  two 
whom  Lucien  did  not  know. 

"They  are  all  right,  gentlemen ;  I  give  you  my  word," 
said  Lousteau. 


220  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"Very  well,  that  will  do  for  me,"  said  Vernou;  "I  will 
heave  your  book  at  the  poets  of  the  sacristy ;  I  am  tired  of 
them." 

"If  Dauriat  declines  to  take  the  'Marguerites'  this  even- 
ing, we  will  attack  him  by  pitching  into  Nathan." 

"  But  what  will  Nathan  say  ?  "  cried  Lucien. 

His  five  colleagues  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Oh  !  he  will  be  delighted,"  said  Vernou.  "  You  will  see 
how  we  manage  these  things." 

**  So  he  is  one  of  us?"  said  one  of  the  two  (to  Lucien) 
unknown  journalists. 

"Yes,  yes,  Frederic;  no  tricks.  We  are  all  working  for 
you,  Lucien,  you  see ;  you  must  stand  by  us  when  your  turn 
comes.  We  are  all  friends  of  Nathan's,  and  we  are  attacking 
him.  Now,  let  us  divide  Alexander's  empire.  Frederic,  will 
you  take  the  Fran^ais  and  the  Odeon  ?  " 

"  If  these  gentlemen  are  willing,"  returned  the  person  ad- 
dressed as  Frederic.  The  others  nodded  assent,  but  Lucien 
saw  a  gleam  of  jealousy  here  and  there. 

"I  am  keeping  the  Opera,  the  Italiens,  and  the  Opera- 
Comique,"  put  in  Vernou. 

"  And  how  about  me?  Am  I  to  have  no  theatres  at  all  ?  " 
asked  the  second  stranger. 

"  Oh  well,  Hector  can  let  you  have  the  Varietes,  and  Lu- 
cien can  spare  you  the  Porte  Saint-Martin.  Let  him  have  the 
Porte  Saint-Martin,  Lucien,  he  is  wild  about  Fanny  Beaupre; 
and  you  can  take  the  Cirque-Olympique  in  exchange.  I  shall 
have  Bobino  and  the  Funambules  and  Madame  Saqui.  Now, 
what  have  we  for  to-morrow?  " 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  Gentlemen,  be  brilliant  for  my  first  number.  The  Baron 
du  Chatelet  and  his  cuttlefish-bone  will  not  last  for  a  week, 
and  the  writer  of  '  Le  Solitaire '  is  worn  out." 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  221 

•• 

**  And  *  Sosthenes-Demosthenes  '  is  stale  too,"  said  Vernou ; 
**  everybody  has  taken  it  up." 

"  The  fact  is,  we  want  a  new  set  of  ninepins,"  said  Frederic. 

"Suppose  that  we  take  the  virtuous  representatives  of  the 
Right  ?  "  suggested  Lousteau.  "  We  might  say  that  Monsieur 
de  Bonald  has  sweaty  feet." 

"  Let  us  begin  a  series  of  sketches  of  Ministerialist  orators," 
suggested  Hector  Merlin. 

"You  do  that,  youngster;  you  know  them;  they  are  your 
own  party,"  said  Lousteau;  "you  could  indulge  any  little 
private  grudges  of  your  own.  Pitch  into  Beugnot  and  Syrieys 
de  Mayrinhac  and  the  rest.  You  might  have  the  sketches 
ready  in  advance,  and  we  shall  have  something  to  fall  back 
upon." 

"  How  if  we  invented  one  or  two  cases  of  refusal  of  burial 
with  aggravating  circumstances?  "  asked  Hector. 

"  Do  not  follow  in  the  tracks  of  the  big  constitutional 
papers;  they  have  pigeon-holes  full  of  ecclesiastical  canards, ^^ 
retorted  Vernou. 

"  Canards?^'  repeated  Lucien. 

"  That  is  our  word  for  a  scrap  of  fiction  told  for  true,  put 
in  to  enliven  the  column  of  morning  news  when  it  is  flat.  We 
owe  the  discovery  to  Benjamin  Franklin,  the  inventor  of  the 
lightning  conductor  and  the  republic.  That  journalist  com- 
pletely deceived  the  encyclopaedists  by  his  transatlantic  can- 
ards. Raynal  gives  two  of  them  for  facts  in  his  *  Histoire 
philosphique  des  Indes.'  " 

"I  did  not  know  that,"  said  Vernou.  "What  were  the 
stories?" 

"One  was  a  tale  about  an  Englishman  and  a  negress  who 
helped  him  to  escape ;  he  sold  the  woman  for  a  slave  after 
getting  her  with  child  himself  to  enhance  her  value.  The 
other  was  the  eloquent  defense  of  a  young  woman  brought 
before  the  authorities  for  bearing  a  child  out  of  wedlock. 
Franklin  owned  to  the  fraud  in  Necker's  house  when  he  came 


222  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

to  Paris,  much  to  the  confusion  of  French  philosophism.  Be- 
hold how  the  New  World  twice  set  a  bad  example  to  the  Old !  " 

**  In  journalism,"  said  Lousteau,  "  everything  that  is  prob- 
able is  true.     That  is  an  axiom." 

"  Criminal  procedure  is  based  on  the  same  rule,"  said 
Vernou. 

"Very  well,  we  meet  here  at  nine  o'clock,"  and  with  that 
they  rose,  and  the  sitting  broke  up  with  the  most  affecting 
demonstrations  of  intimacy  and  good-will. 

"What  have  you  done  to  Finot,  Lucien,  that  he  should 
make  a  special  arrangement  with  you  ?  You  are  the  only  one 
that  he  has  bound  to  himself,"  said  Etienne  Lousteau,  as 
they  came  downstairs. 

"I?     Nothing.     It  was  his  own  proposal,"  said  Lucien. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  if  you  should  make  your  own  terms 
with  him,  I  should  be  delighted ;  we  should,  both  of  us,  be 
the  better  for  it." 

On  the  first  floor  they  found  Finot.  He  stepped  across 
to  Lousteau  and  asked  him  into  the  so-called  private  office. 
Giroudeau  immediately  put  a  couple  of  stamped  agreements 
before  Lucien. 

"  Sign  your  agreement,"  he  said,  "and  the  new  editor  will 
think  the  whole  thing  was  arranged  yesterday." 

Lucien,  reading  the  document,  overheard  fragments  of  a 
tolerably  warm  dispute  within  as  to  the  line  of  conduct  and 
profits  of  the  paper.  Etienne  Lousteau  wanted  his  share  of 
the  blackmail  levied  by  Giroudeau  ;  and,  in  all  probability, 
the  matter  was  compromised,  for  the  pair  came  out  perfectly 
good  friends. 

"  We  will  meet  at  Dauriat's,  Lucien,  in  the  Wooden  Gal- 
leries, at  eight  o'clock,"  said  Etienne  Lousteau. 

A  young  man  appeared,  meanwhile,  in  search  of  employ- 
ment, wearing  the  same  nervous,  shy  look  with  which  Lucien 
himself  had  come  to  the  office  so  short  a  while  ago  ;  and  in 
his  secret  soul  Lucien  felt  amused  as  he  watched  Giroudeau 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  223 

«■ 
playing  off  the  same  tactics  with  which  the  old  campaigner 
had  previously  foiled  him.  Self-interest  opened  his  eyes  to 
the  necessity  of  the  manoeuvres  which  raised  well-nigh  insur- 
mountable barriers  between  beginners  and  the  upper  room 
where  the  elect  were  gathered  together. 

"  Contributors  don't  get  very  much  as  it  is,"  he  said, 
addressing  Giroudeau. 

**  If  there  were  more  of  you,  there  would  be  so  much  less," 
retorted  the  captain.     "  So  there  !  " 

The  old  campaigner  swung  his  loaded  cane,  and  went 
down,  coughing  as  usual.  Out  in  the  street  he  was  amazed 
to  see  a  handsome  carriage  waiting  on  the  boulevard  for 
Lucien. 

*^\ou  are  the  army  nowadays,"  he  said,  "and  we  are  the 
civilians." 

*'  Upon  my  word,"  said  Lucien,  as  he  drove  away  with 
Coralie,  "  these  young  writers  seem  to  me  to  be  the  best  fel- 
lows alive.  Here  am  I  a  journalist,  sure  of  making  six 
hundred  francs  a  month  if  I  work  like  a  horse.  But  I  shall 
find  a  publisher  for  my  two  books,  and  I  will  write  others ; 
for  my  friends  will  insure  a  success.  And  so,  Coralie,  *  vogue 
la galere r  (come  what  may)  as  you  say." 

"  You  will  make  your  way,  dear  boy  ;  but  you  must  not  be 
as  good-natured  as  you  are  good-looking ;  it  would  be  the 
ruin  of  you.     Be  ill-natured,  that  is  the  proper  thing." 

Coralie  and  Lucien  drove  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and 
again  they  met  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  Mme.  de  Bargeton, 
and  the  Baron  du  Ch^telet.  Mme.  de  Bargeton  gave  Lucien 
a  languishing  glance  which  might  be  taken  as  a  greeting. 
Camusot  had  ordered  the  best  possible  dinner ;  and  Coralie, 
feeling  that  she  was  rid  of  her  adorer,  was  more  charming  to 
the  poor  silk-mercer  than  she  had  ever  been  in  the  fourteen 
months  during  which  their  connection  lasted ;  he  had  never 
seen  her  so  kindly,  so  enchantingly  lovely. 

"Come,"  he  thought,  "let  us  keep  near  her  anyhow!" 


224  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

In  consequence,  Camusot  made  secret  overtures.  He  prom- 
ised Coralie  an  income  of  six  thousand  livres ;  he  would 
transfer  the  stock  in  the  funds  into  her  name  (his  wife  knew 
nothing  about  the  investment)  if  only  she  would  consent  to 
be  his  mistress  still.     He  would  shut  his  eyes  to  her  lover. 

"And  betray  such  an  angel?  Why,  just  look  at  him, 
you  old  fossil,  and  look  at  yourself!  "  and  her  eyes  turned  to 
her  poet.  Camusot  had  pressed  Lucien  to  drink  till  the 
poet's  head  was  rather  cloudy. 

There  was  no  help  for  it ;  Camusot  made  up  his  mind  to 
wait  till  sheer  want  should  give  him  this  woman  a  second 
time. 

"Then  I  can  only  be  your  friend,"  he  said,  as  he  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead. 

Lucien  went  from  Coralie  and  Camusot  to  the  Wooden 
Galleries.  What  a  change  had  been  wrought  in  his  mind  by 
his  initiation  into  journalism  !  He  mixed  fearlessly  now  with 
the  crowd  which  surged  to  and  fro  in  the  buildings;  he  even 
swaggered  a  little  because  he  had  a  mistress ;  and  he  walked 
into  Dauriat's  shop  in  an  off-hand  manner  because  he  was  a 
journalist. 

He  found  himself  among  distinguished  men  ;  gave  a  hand 
to  Blondet  and  Nathan  and  Finot,  and  to  all  the  coterie  with 
whom  he  had  been  fraternizing  for  a  week.  He  was  a  per- 
sonage, he  thought,  and  he  flattered  himself  that  he  surpassed 
his  comrades.  That  little  flick  of  the  wine  did  him  admirable 
service  ;  he  was  witty ;  he  showed  that  he  could  "  howl  with 
the  wolves." 

And  yet  the  tacit  approval,  the  praises  spoken  and  un- 
spoken on  which  he  had  counted,  were  not  forthcoming.  He 
noticed  the  first  stirrings  of  jealousy  among  a  group,  less 
curious,  perhaps,  than  anxious  to  know  the  place  which  this 
new-comer  might  take,  and  the  exact  portion  of  the  sum-total 
of  profits  which  he  would  probably  secure  and  swallow. 
Lucien  only  saw  smiles  on  two  faces — Finot,  who  regarded 


A   PRjOVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  225 

him  as  a  mine  to  be  exploited,  and  Lousteau,  who  considered 
that  he  had  proprietary  rights  in  the  poet,  looked  glad  to  see 
him.  Lousteau  had  begun  already  to  assume  the  airs  of  an 
editor ;  he  tapped  sharply  on  the  window-panes  of  Dauriat's 
private  office. 

"One  moment,  my  friend,"  cried  a  voice  within  as  the 
publisher's  face  appeared  above  the  green  curtains  of  the 
window. 

The  moment  lasted  an  hour,  and  finally  Lucien  and  Etienne 
were  admitted  into  the  sanctum. 

"Well,  have  you  thought  over  our  friend's  proposal?" 
asked  Etienne  Lousteau,  now  an  editor. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Dauriat,  lolling  like  a  sultan  in  his 
chair.  "I  have  read  the  volume.  And  I  submitted  it  to  a 
man  of  taste,  a  good  judge ;  for  I  don't  pretend  to  understand 
these  things  myself.  I  myself,  my  friend,  buy  reputations 
ready-made,  as  the  Englishman  bought  his  love  affairs.  You 
are  as  great  as  a  poet  as  you  are  handsome  as  a  man,  my  boy," 
pronounced  Dauriat.  "  Upon  my  word  and  honor  (I  don't 
tell  you  that  as  a  publisher,  mind),  your  sonnets  are  magnifi- 
cent ;  no  sign  of  effort  about  them,  as  is  natural  when  a  man 
writes  with  inspiration  and  verve.  You  know  your  craft,  in 
fact,  one  of  the  good  points  of  the  new  school.  Your  volume 
of  '  Marguerites '  is  a  fine  book,  but  there  is  no  business  in 
it,  and  it  is  not  worth  my  while  to  meddle  with  anything  but 
a  very  big  affair.  In  conscience,  I  won't  take  your  sonnets. 
It  would  be  impossible  to  push  them  ;  there  is  not  enough  in 
the  thing  to  pay  the  expenses  of  a  big  success.  Beside,  you 
will  not  keep  to  poetry ;  this  book  of  yours  will  be  your  first 
and  last  attempt  of  the  kind.  You  are  young ;  you  bring  me 
the  everlasting  volume  of  early  verse  which  every  man  of 
letters  writes  when  he  leaves  school ;  he  thinks  a  lot  of  it  at 
the  time,  and  laughs  at  it  later  on.  Lousteau,  your  friend, 
has  a  poem  put  away  somewhere  among  his  old  socks,  I'll 
warrant.  Haven't  you  a  poem  that  you  thought  a  good  deal 
15 


226  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

of  once,  Lousteau?  "  inquired  Dauriat,  with  a  knowing  glance 
at  the  other. 

"How  should  I  be  writing  prose  otherwise,  eh?"  asked 
Lousteau. 

**  There,  you  see  !  He  has  never  said  a  word  to  me  about 
it,  for  our  friend  understands  business  and  the  trade,"  con- 
tinued Dauriat.  **  For  me  the  question  is  not  whether  you 
are  a  great  poet,  I  know  that,"  he  added,  stroking  down 
Lucien's  pride;  **  you  have  a  great  deal,  a  very  great  deal  of 
merit ;  if  I  were  only  just  starting  in  business,  I  should  make 
the  mistake  of  publishing  your  book.  But,  in  the  first  place, 
my  sleeping  partners  and  those  at  the  back  of  me  are  cutting 
off  my  supplies ;  I  dropped  twenty  thousand  francs  over  poetry 
last  year,  and  that  is  enough  for  them  ;  they  will  not  hear  of 
any  more  just  now,  and  they  are  my  masters.  Nevertheless, 
that  is  not  the  question.  I  admit  that  you  may  be  a  great 
poet,  but  will  you  be  a  prolific  writer  ?  Will  you  hatch  son- 
nets regularly?  Will  you  run  into  ten  volumes?  Is  there 
business  in  it  ?  Of  course  not.  You  will  be  a  delightful 
prose  writer ;  you  have  too  much  sense  to  spoil  your  style 
with  tagging  rhymes  together.  You  have  a  chance  to  make 
thirty  thousand  francs  per  annum  by  writing  for  the  papers, 
and  you  will  not  exchange  that  chance  for  three  thousand 
francs  made  with  difficulty  by  your  hemistitches  and  strophes 
and  tomfoolery " 

"You  know  that  he  is  on  the  paper,  Dauriat?"  put  in 
Lousteau. 

"Yes,"  Dauriat  answered.  "Yes,  I  saw  his  article,  and 
in  his  own  interest  I  decline  the  '  Marguerites.'  Yes,  sir,  in 
six  months*  time  I  shall  have  paid  you  more  money  for  the 
articles  that  I  shall  ask  you  to  write  than  for  your  poetry  that 
will  not  sell." 

"  And  fame  ?  "  said  Lucien. 

Dauriat  and  Lousteau  laughed. 

**  Oh,  dear  !  "  said  Lousteau,  "  there  be  illusions  left." 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  227 

**  Fame  means  ten  years  of  sticking  to  work,  and  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  lost  or  made  in  the  publishing  trade.  If  you 
find  anybody  mad  enough  to  print  your  poetry  for  you,  you 
will  feel  some  respect  for  me  in  another  twelvemonth,  when 
you  have  had  time  to  see  the  outcome  of  the  transaction." 

"Have  you  the  manuscript  here?"  Lucien  asked  the 
bookseller  coldly. 

"  Here  it  is,  my  friend,"  said  Dauriat.  The  publisher's 
manner  toward  Lucien  had  sweetened  singularly. 

Lucien  took  up  the  roll  without  looking  at  the  string,  so 
sure  he  felt  that  Dauriat  had  read  his  "Marguerites."  He 
went  out  with  Lousteau,  seemingly  neither  disconcerted  nor 
dissatisfied.  Dauriat  went  with  them  into  the  shop,  talking 
of  his  newspaper  and  Lousteau's  daily,  while  Lucien  played 
with  the  manuscript  of  the  "  Marguerites." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  Dauriat  has  read  your  sonnets  or 
sent  them  to  any  one  else?"  Etienne  Lousteau  snatched  an 
opportunity  to  whisper. 

"Yes,"  said  Lucien. 

"Look  at  the  string,"  Lucien  looked  down  at  the  blot 
of  ink,  and  saw  that  the  mark  on  the  string  still  coincided ; 
he  turned  white  with  rage. 

"  Which  of  the  sonnets  was  it  that  you  particularly  liked  ?  " 
he  asked,  turning  to  the  publisher. 

"  They  are  all  of  them  remarkable,  my  friend  ;  but  the  son- 
net on  the  Marguerite  is  delightful,  the  closing  thought  is 
fine,  and  exquisitely  expressed.  I  felt  sure  from  that  sonnet 
that  your  prose  work  would  command  a  success,  and  I  spoke 
to  Finot  about  you  at  once.  Write  articles  for  us  and  we 
will  pay  you  well  for  them.  Fame  is  a  very  fine  thing,  you 
see,  but  don't  forget  the  practical  and  solid,  and  take  every 
chance  that  turns  up.  When  you  have  made  money,  you  can 
write  poetry." 

The  poet  dashed  out  of  the  store  to  avoid  an  explosion. 
He  was  furious.     Lousteau  followed. 


228  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS 

"  Well,  my  boy,  pray  keep  cool.  Take  men  as  they  are — 
for  means  to  an  end.     Do  you  wish  for  revenge?  " 

"At  any  price,"  muttered  the  poet. 

*'  Here  is  a  copy  of  Nathan's  book.  Dauriat  has  just  given 
it  to  me.  The  second  edition  is  coming  out  to-morrow ;  read 
the  book  again,  and  knock  off  an  article  demolishing  it. 
Felicien  Vernou  cannot  endure  Nathan,  for  he  thinks  that 
Nathan's  success  will  injure  his  own  forthcoming  book.  It  is 
a  craze  with  these  little  minds  to  fancy  that  there  is  not  room 
for  two  successes  under  the  sun ;  so  he  will  see  that  your  article 
finds  a  place  in  the  big  paper  for  which  he  writes." 

**  But  what  is  there  to  be  said  against  the  book?  it  is  good 
work,"  cried  Lucien. 

"  Oh,  I  say !  you  must  learn  your  trade,"  said  Lousteau, 
laughing.  **  Given  that  the  book  is  a  masterpiece,  under  the 
stroke  of  your  pen  it  must  turn  to  dull  trash,  dangerous  and 
unwholesome  stuff." 

*'But  how?" 

"You  turn  all  the  good  points  into  bad  ones.** 

"I  am  incapable  of  such  a  juggler's  feat." 

**  My  dear  boy,  a  journalist  is  a  juggler  ;  a  man  must  make 
up  his  mind  to  the  drawbacks  of  the  calling.  Look  here  !  I 
am  not  a  bad  fellow ;  this  is  the  way  /should  set  to  work  my- 
self. Attention  !  You  might  begin  by  praising  the  book, 
and  amuse  yourseli  a  while  by  saying  what  you  really  think. 
'Good,'  says  the  reader,  'this  critic  is  not  jealous;  he  will 
be  impartial,  no  doubt,'  and  from  that  point  your  public  will 
think  that  your  criticism  is  a  piece  of  conscientious  work. 
Then,  when  you  have  won  your  reader's  confidence,  you  will 
regret  that  you  must  blame  the  tendency  and  influence  of  such 
work  upon  French  literature.  '  Does  not  France,'  you  will 
say,  'sway  the  whole  intellectual  world?  French  writers 
have  kept  Europe  in  the  path  of  analysis  and  philosophical 
criticism  from  age  to  age  by  their  powerful  style  and  the 
original  turn  given  by  them  to  ideas.'     Here,  for  the  benefit 


A  PRO  VINCI AI.  AT  PARIS.  229 

of  the  Philistine,  insert  a  panegyric  on  Voltaire,  Rousseau, 
Diderot,  Montesquieu,  and  Buffon.  Hold  forth  upon  the  in- 
exorable French  language.  Show  how  it  spreads  a  varnish, 
as  it  were,  over  thought.  Let  fall  a  few  aphorisms,  such  as^ — 
'A  great  writer  in  France  is  invariably  a  great  man ;  he  writes 
in  a  language  which  compels  him  to  think  ;  it  is  otherwise  in 
other  countries ' — and  so  on,  and  so  on.  Then,  to  prove  your 
case,  draw  a  comparison  between  Rabener,  the  German 
satirical  moralist,  and  La  Bruyere.  Nothing  gives  a  critic 
such  an  air  as  an  apparent  familiarity  with  foreign  literature. 
Kant  is  Cousin's.-  pedestal. 

**  Once  on  that  ground  you  bring  out  a  word  which  sums 
up  the  French  men  of  genius  of  the  eighteenth  century  for 
the  benefit  of  simpletons — you  call  that  literature  the  '  litera- 
ture of  ideas.'  Armed  with  this  expression,  you  fling  all  the 
mighty  dead  at  the  heads  of  the  illustrious  living.  You  ex- 
plain that  in  the  present  day  a  new  form  of  literature  has  sprung 
up;  that  dialogue  (the  easiest  form  of  writing)  is  overdone, 
and  description  dispenses  with  any  need  for  thinking  on  the 
part  of  the  author  or  reader.  You  bring  up  the  fiction  of  Vol- 
taire, Diderot,  Sterne,  and  Le  Sage,  so  trenchant,  so  compact 
of  the  stuff"  of  life  ;  and  turn  from  them  to  the  modern  novel, 
composed  of  scenery  and  word-pictures  and  metaphor  and  the 
dramatic  situations,  of  which  Scott  is  full.  Invention  may  be 
displayed  in  such  work,  but  there  is  no  room  for  anything 
else.  *  The  romance  after  the  manner  of  Scott  is  a  mere 
passing  fashion  in  literature,'  you  will  say,  and  fulminate 
against  the  fatal  way  in  which  ideas  are  diluted  and  beaten 
thin  ;  cry  out  against  a  style  within  the  reach  of  any  intellect, 
for  any  one  can  commence  author  at  small  expense  in  a  way 
of  literature,  which  you  can  nickname  the  *  literature  of 
imagery. ' 

"  Then  you  fall  upon  Nathan  with  your  argument,  and 
establish  it  beyond  cavil  that  he  is  a  mere  imitator  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  genius.   The  concise,  grand  style  of  the  eighteenth 


230  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

century  is  lacking ;  you  show  that  the  author  substitutes  events 
for  sentiments.  Action  and  stir  is  not  life ;  he  gives  you 
pictures,  but  no  ideas. 

"Come  out  with  such  phrases,  and  people  will  take  them 
up.  In  spite  of  the  merits  of  the  work,  it  seems  to  you  to  be 
a  dangerous,  nay,  a  fatal  precedent.  It  throws  open  the  gates 
of  the  temple  of  Fame  to  the  crowd ;  and  in  the  distance  you 
descry  a  legion  of  petty  authors  hastening  to  imitate  this 
novel  and  easy  style  of  writing. 

*'  Here  you  launch  out  into  resounding  lamentations  over 
the  decadence  and  decline  of  taste,  and  slip  in  eulogies  of 
Messieurs  Etienne  Jouy,  Tissot,  Gosse,  Duval,  Jay,  Benjamin 
Constant,  Aignan,  Baour-Lormian,  Villemain,  and  the  whole 
Liberal-Bonapartist  chorus  who  patronize  Vernou's  paper. 
Next  you  draw  a  picture  of  that  glorious  phalanx  of  writers 
repelling  the  invasion  of  the  romantics ;  these  are  the  up- 
holders of  ideas  and  style  as  against  metaphor  and  balder- 
dash ;  the  modern  representatives  of  the  school  of  Voltaire 
as  opposed  to  the  English  and  German  schools,  even  as  the 
seventeen  heroic  deputies  of  the  Left  fought  the  battle  for  the 
nation  against  the  Ultras  of  the  Right. 

"And  then,  under  cover  of  names  respected  by  the  im- 
mense majority  of  Frenchmen  (who  will  always  be  against  the 
government),  you  can  crush  Nathan  ;  for  although  his  work 
is  far  above  the  average,  it  confirms  the  bourgeois  taste  for 
literature  without  ideas.  And  after  that,  you  understand,  it 
is  no  longer  a  question  of  Nathan  and  his  book,  but  of  France 
and  the  glory  of  France.  It  is  the  duty  of  all  honest  and 
courageous  pens  to  make  strenuous  opposition  to  these  foreign 
importations.  And  with  that  you  flatter  your  readers.  Shrewd 
French  mother-wit  is  not  easily  caught  napping.  If  pub- 
lishers, by  ways  which  you  do  not  choose  to  specify,  have 
stolen  a  success,  the  reading  public  very  soon  judges  for  itself, 
and  corrects  the  mistakes  made  by  some  five  hundred  fools, 
who  always  rush  to  the  fore. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  281 

"Say  that  the  publisher  who  sold  a  first  edition  of  the 
book  is  audacious  indeed  to  issue  a  second,  and  express  regret 
that  so  clever  a  man  does  not  know  the  taste  of  the  country 
better.  There  is  the  gist  of  it.  Just  a  sprinkle  of  the  salt 
of  wit  and  a  dash  of  vinegar  to  bring  out  the  flavor,  and 
Dauriat  will  be  done  to  a  turn.  But  mind  that  you  end  with 
seeming  to  pity  Nathan  for  a  mistake,  and  speak  of  him  as 
of  a  man  from  whom  contemporary  literature  may  look  for 
great  things  if  he  renounces  these  ways." 

Lucien  was  amazed  at  this  talk  from  Lousteau.  As  the 
journalist  spoke,  the  scales  fell  from  his  eyes ;  he  beheld  new 
truths  of  which  he  had  never  before  caught  so  much  as  a 
glimpse. 

"  But  all  this  that  you  are  saying  is  quite  true  and  just," 
cried  he. 

"  If  it  were  not,  how  could  you  make  it  tell  against  Nathan's 
book?  "  asked  Lousteau.  **  That  is  the  first  manner  of  demol- 
ishing a  book,  my  boy;  it  is  the  pickaxe  style  of  criticism. 
But  there  are  plenty  of  other  ways.  Your  education  will 
complete  itself  in  time.  When  you  are  absolutely  obliged  to 
speak  of  a  man  whom  you  do  not  like,  for  proprietors  and 
editors  are  sometimes  under  compulsion,  you  bring  out  a 
neutral  special  article.  You  put  the  title  of  the  book  at  the 
head  of  it,  and  begin  with  general  remarks,  on  the  Greeks 
and  the  Romans  if  you  like,  and  wind  up  with — 'and  this 
brings  us  to  Mr.  So-and-so's  book,  which  will  form  the  subject 
of  a  second  article.'  The  second  article  never  appears,  and 
in  this  way  you  snuff  out  the  book  between  two  promises. 
But  in  this  case  you  are  writing  down,  not  Nathan,  but 
Dauriat ;  he  needs  the  pickaxe  style.  If  the  book  is  really 
good,  the  pickaxe  does  no  harm ;  but  it  goes  to  the  core  of  it 
if  it  is  bad.  In  the  first  case,  no  one  but  the  publisher  is 
any  the  worse ;  in  the  second,  you  do  the  public  a  service. 
Both  methods,  moreover,  are  equally  serviceable  in  political 
criticism." 


282  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

Etienne  Lousteau's  cruel  lesson  opened  up  possibilities  for 
Lucien's  imagination.    He  understood  this  craft  to  admiration. 

"Let  us  go  to  the  oflSce,"  said  Lousteau;  "we  shall  find 
our  friends  there,  and  we  will  agree  among  ourselves  to  charge 
at  Nathan;  they  will  laugh,  you  will  see." 

Arrived  in  the  Rue  Saint-Fiacre,  they  went  up  to  the  room 
in  the  roof  where  the  paper  was  made  up,  and  Lucien  was 
surprised,  and  gratified  no  less,  to  see  the  alacrity  with  which 
his  comrades  proceeded  to  demolish  Nathan's  book.  Hector 
Merlin  took  up  a  piece  of  paper  and  wrote  a  few  lines  for  his 
own  newspaper : 

"A  second  edition  of  M.  Nathan's  book  is  announced. 
We  had  intended  to  keep  silence  with  regard  to  that  work, 
but  its  apparent  success  obliges  us  to  publish  an  article,  not 
so  much  upon  the  book  itself  as  upon  certain  tendencies  of 
the  new  school  of  literature." 

At  the  head  of  the  "Facetise"  in  the  morning's  paper, 
Lousteau  inserted  the  following  note : 

"  M.  Dauriat  is  bringing  out  a  second  edition  of  Mon- 
sieur Nathan's  book.  Evidently  he  does  not  know  the  legal 
maxim,   jDIon  bis  in  idem.      All  honor  to  rash  courage." 

Lousteau's  words  had  been  like  a  torch  for  burning;  Lu- 
cien's hot  desire  to  be  revenged  on  Dauriat  took  the  place  of 
conscience  and  inspiration.  For  three  days  he  never  left 
Coralie's  room ;  he  sat  at  work  by  the  fire,  waited  upon  by 
B6r6nice ;  petted,  in  moments  of  weariness,  by  the  silent  and 
attentive  Coralie  ;  till,  at  the  end  of  that  time,  he  had  made 
a  fair  copy  of  about  three  columns  of  criticism,  and  an  aston- 
ishingly good  piece  of  work. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  he  ran  round  to 
the  office,  found  his  associates,  and  read  over  his  work  to  an 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  233 

^■ 
attentive  audience.     Felicien  said  not  a  syllable.     He  took 

up  the  manuscript,  and  made  off  with  it  pellmell  down  the 

staircase. 

"  What  has  come  to  him?  "  cried  Lucien. 

"He  has  taken  your  article  straight  to  the  printer,"  said 
Hector  Merlin.  "  'Tis  a  masterpiece ;  not  a  line  to  add,  nor 
a  word  to  take  out." 

"  There  was  no  need  to  do  more  than  show  you  the  way," 
said  Lousteau. 

"I  should  like  to  see  Nathan's  face  when  he  reads  this  to- 
morrow," said  another  contributor,  beaming  with  gentle  sat- 
isfaction. 

"  It  is  as  well  to  have  you  for  a  friend,"  remarked  Hector 
Merlin. 

"  Then  it  will  do?  "  Lucien  asked  quickly. 

"  Blondet  and  Vignon  will  feel  bad,"  said  Lousteau. 

"  Here  is  a  short  article  which  I  have  knocked  together  for 
you,"  began  Lucien ;  "  if  it  takes,  I  could  write  you  a  series." 

"Read  it  over,"  said  Lousteau,  and  Lucien  read  the  first 
of  the  delightful  short  papers  which  made  the  fortune  of  the 
little  newspaper;  a  series  of  sketches  of  Paris  life,  a  portrait, 
a  type,  an  ordinary  event,  or  some  of  the  oddities  of  the  great 
city.  This  specimen — "  The  Man  in  the  Street  " — was  written 
in  a  way  that  was  fresh  and  original ;  the  thoughts  were  struck 
out  by  the  shock  of  the  words,  the  sounding  ring  of  the  ad- 
verbs and  adjectives  caught  the  reader's  ear.  The  paper  was 
as  different  from  the  serious  and  profound  article  on  Nathan 
as  the  "Lettres  persanes  "  from  the  "  Esprit  des  lois." 

"You  are  a  born  journalist,"  said  Lousteau.  "  It  shall  go 
in  to-morrow.     Do  as  much  of  this  sort  of  thing  as  you  like." 

"Ah,  by-the-by,"  said  Merlin,  "  Dauriat  is  furious  about 
those  two  bombshells  hurled  into  his  magazine.  I  have  just 
come  from  him.  He  was  hurling  imprecations,  and  in  such  a 
rage  with  Finot,  who  told  him  that  he  had  sold  his  paper  to 
you.     As  for  me,  I  took  him  aside  and  just  said  a  word  in  his 


234  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

ear.  'The  "Marguerites"  will  cost  you  dear,'  I  told  him. 
*  A  man  of  talent  comes  to  you,  you  turn  the  cold  shoulder 
on  him  and  send  him  into  the  arms  of  the  newspapers.'  " 

"  Dauriat  will  be  dumfounded  by  the  article  on  Nathan," 
said  Lousteau.  "  Do  you  see  now  what  journalism  is,  Lucien? 
Your  revenge  is  beginning  to  tell.  The  Baron  Chatelet  came 
here  this  morning  for  your  address.  There  was  a  cutting 
article  upon  him  in  this  morning's  issue ;  he  is  a  weakling, 
that  buck  of  the  empire,  and  he  has  lost  his  head.  Have 
you  seen  the  paper  ?  It  is  a  funny  article.  Look,  *  Funeral 
of  the  Heron  and  the  Cuttlefish-bone's  Lament.'  Madame 
de  Bargeton  is  called  the  Cuttlefish-bone  now,  and  no  mis- 
take, and  Chitelet  is  known  everywhere  as  Baron  Heron." 

Lucien  took  up  the  paper,  and  could  not  help  laughing  at 
Vernou's  extremely  clever  skit. 

"They  will  capitulate  soon,"  said  Hector  Merlin, 

Lucien  merrily  assisted  at  the  manufacture  of  epigrams  and 
jokes  at  the  end  of  the  paper ;  and  the  associates  smoked  and 
chatted  over  the  day's  adventures,  over  the  foibles  of  some 
among  their  number,  or  some  new  bit  of  personal  gossip. 
From  their  witty,  malicious,  bantering  talk,  Lucien  gained  a 
knowledge  of  the  inner  life  of  literature  and  of  the  manners 
and  customs  of  the  craft. 

"  While  they  are  setting  up  the  paper,  I  will  go  round  with 
you  and  introduce  you  to  the  managers  of  your  theatres,  and 
take  you  behind  the  scenes,"  said  Lousteau.  "  And  then  we 
will  go  to  the  Panorama-Dramatique  and  have  a  frolic  in  their 
dressing-rooms." 

Arm-in-arm  they  went  from  theatre  to  theatre.  Lucien  was 
introduced  to  this  one  and  that  and  enthroned  as  a  dramatic 
critic.  Managers  complimented  him,  actresses  flung  him  side- 
glances  ;  for  every  one  of  them  knew  that  this  was  the  critic 
who,  by  a  single  article,  had  gained  an  engagement  at  the 
Gymnase,  with  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year,  for  Coralie,  and 
another  for  Florine  at  the  Panorama-Dramatique  with  eight 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  23S 

*■ 
thousand  francs.     Lucien  was  a  man  of  importance.     The 

little  ovations  raised  Lucien  in  his  own  eyes,  and  taught  him 

to  know  his  power.     At  eleven  o'clock  the  pair  arrived  at  the 

Panorama-Draraatique ;  Lucien  with  a  careless  air  that  worked 

wonders.    Nathan  was  there.    Nathan  held  out  a  hand,  which 

Lucien  squeezed. 

"  Ah !  my  masters,  so  you  have  a  mind  to  floor  me,  have 
you?"  said  Nathan,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Just  you  wait  until  to-morrow,  ray  dear  fellow,  and  you 
shall  see  how  Lucien  has  taken  you  in  hand.  Upon  my  word, 
you  will  be  pleased.  A  piece  of  serious  criticism  like  that  is 
sure  to  do  a  book  good." 

Lucien  reddened  with  confusion. 

"Is  it  severe?"  inquired  Nathan. 

"It  is  serious,"  said  Lousteau. 

"  Then  there  is  no  harm  done,"  Nathan  rejoined.  "  Hec- 
tor Merlin,  in  the  green-room  of  the  Vaudeville,  was  saying 
that  I  had  been  cut  up." 

"Let  him  talk  and  wait,"  cried  Lucien,  and  took  refuge 
in  Coralie's  dressing-room.  Coralie,  in  her  alluring  costume, 
had  just  come  off  the  stage. 

Next  morning,  as  Lucien  and  Coralie  sat  at  breakfast,  a 
carriage  drove  along  the  Rue  du  Vendome.  The  street  was 
quiet  enough,  so  that  they  could  hear  the  light  sound  made 
by  an  elegant  cabriolet ;  and  there  was  that  in  the  pace  of 
the  horse,  and  the  manner  of  pulling  up  at  the  door,  which 
tells  unmistakably  of  a  thoroughbred.  Lucien  went  to  the 
window,  and  there,  in  fact,  beheld  a  splendid  English  horse, 
and  no  less  a  person  than  Dauriat  flinging  the  reins  to  his  man 
as  he  stepped  down. 

"  'Tis  the  publisher,  Coralie,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Let  him  wait,  Berenice,"  Coralie  said  at  once. 

Lucien  smiled  at  her  presence  of  mind  and  kissed  her  with 
a  great  rush  of  tenderness.     This  mere  girl  had  made  his  in- 


286  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

terests  hers  in  a  wonderful  way ;  she  was  quick-witted  where 
he  was  concerned.  The  apparition  of  the  insolent  publisher, 
the  sudden  and  complete  collapse  of  that  prince  of  charlatans, 
was  due  to  circumstances  almost  entirely  forgotten,  so  utterly 
has  the  booktrade  changed  during  the  last  fifteen  years. 

From  1816  to  1827,  when  the  newspaper  reading-rooms 
were  only  just  beginning  to  lend  new  books,  the  fiscal  law 
pressed  more  heavily  than  ever  upon  periodical  publications 
and  necessity  created  the  invention  of  advertisements.  Para- 
graphs and  articles  in  the  newspapers  were  the  only  means  of 
advertisement  known  in  those  days ;  and  French  newspapers, 
before  the  year  1822,  were  so  small  that  the  largest  sheet  of 
those  times  was  not  so  large  as  the  smallest  daily  paper  of 
ours.  Dauriat  and  Ladvocat,  the  first  publishers  to  make  a 
stand  against  the  tyranny  of  journalists,  were  also  the  first  to 
use  the  placards  which  caught  the  attention  of  Paris  by  strange 
type,  striking  colors,  vignettes,  and  (at  a  later  time)  by  litho- 
graph illustrations,  till  a  placard  became  a  fairy-tale  for  the 
eyes,  and  not  unfrequently  a  snare  for  the  purse  of  the  ama- 
teur. So  much  originality  indeed  was  expended  on  placards 
in  Paris,  that  one  of  that  peculiar  kind  of  maniacs,  known  as 
a  collector,  possesses  a  complete  series. 

At  first  the  placard  was  confined  to  the  store  windows  and 
stalls  upon  the  boulevards  in  Paris ;  afterward  it  spread  all 
over  France,  till  it  was  supplanted  to  some  extent  by  a  return 
to  advertisements  in  the  newspapers.  But  the  placard,  never- 
theless, which  continues  to  strike  the  eye,  after  the  advertise- 
ment and  the  book  which  it  advertised  are  both  forgotten, 
will  always  be  among  us ;  it  took  a  new  lease  of  life  when 
walls  were  plastered  with  posters. 

Newspaper  advertising,  the  offspring  of  heavy  stamp  duties, 
a  high  rate  of  postage,  and  the  heavy  deposit  of  caution- 
money  required  by  the  government  as  security  for  good  be- 
havior, is  within  the  reach  of  all  who  care  to  pay  for  it,  and 
has  turned  the  fourth  page  of  every  journal  into  a  harvest-field 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  287 

alike  for  the  speculator  and  the  Intenial  Revenue  Department. 
The  press  restrictions  were  invented  in  the  time  of  M.  de 
Villele,  who  had  a  chance,  if  he  had  but  known  it,  of  destroy- 
ing the  power  of  journalism  by  allowing  newspapers  to  multi- 
ply till  no  one  took  any  notice  of  them ;  but  he  missed  his 
opportunity,  and  a  sort  of  privilege  was  created,  as  it  were, 
by  the  almost  insuperable  difficulties  put  in  the  way  of  start- 
ing a  new  venture.  So,  in  1821,  the  periodical  press  might 
be  said  to  have  power  of  life  and  death  over  the  creations 
of  the  brain  and  the  publishing  trade.  A  few  lines  among 
the  items  of  news  cost  a  fearful  amount.  Intrigues  were  mul- 
tiplied in  newspaper  offices ;  and  of  a  night  when  the  columns 
were  divided  up,  and  this  or  that  article  was  put  in  or  left  out 
to  suit  the  space,  the  printing-room  became  a  sort  of  battle- 
field ;  so  much  so,  that  the  largest  publishing  firms  had  writers 
in  their  pay  to  insert  short  articles  in  which  many  ideas  are 
put  in  little  space.  Obscure  journalists  of  this  stamp  were  only 
paid  after  the  insertion  of  the  items,  and  not  unfrequently  spent 
the  night  in  the  printing-office  to  make  sure  that  their  contribu- 
tions were  not  omitted ;  sometimes  putting  in  a  long  article, 
obtained  heaven  knows  how,  sometimes  a  few  lines  of  a  puff. 

The  manners  and  customs  of  journalism  and  of  the  pub- 
lishing houses  have  since  changed  so  much  that  many  people 
nowadays  will  not  believe  what  immense  efforts  were  made  by 
writers  and  publishers  of  books  to  secure  a  newspaper  puff; 
the  martyrs  of  glory,  and  all  those  who  are  condemned  to  the 
penal  servitude  of  a  life-long  success,  were  reduced  to  such 
shifts,  and  stooped  to  the  depths  of  bribery  and  corruption  as 
seem  fabulous  to-day.  Every  kind  of  persuasion  was  brought 
to  bear  on  journalists — dinners,  flattery,  and  presents.  The 
following  story  will  throw  more  light  on  the  close  connection 
between  the  critic  and  the  publisher  than  any  quantity  of  flat 
assertions : 

There  was  once  upon  a  time  an  editor  of  an  important 
paper,  a  clever  writer  with  the  prospect  of  becoming  a  states- 


238  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

man ;  he  was  young  in  those  days  and  fond  of  pleasure,  and 
he  became  the  favorite  of  a  well-known  publishing  house. 
One  Sunday  the  wealthy  head  of  the  firm  was  entertaining 
several  of  the  foremost  journalists  of  the  time  in  the  country, 
and  the  mistress  of  the  house,  then  a  young  and  pretty  woman, 
went  to  walk  in  her  park  with  the  illustrious  visitor.  The 
head  clerk  of  the  firm,  a  cool,  steady,  methodical  German 
with  nothing  but  business  in  his  head,  was  discussing  a  pro- 
ject with  one  of  the  journalists,  and  as  they  chatted  they 
walked  on  into  the  woods  beyond  the  park.  In  among  the 
thickets  the  German  thought  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  his 
hostess,  put  up  his  eyeglass,  made  a  sign  to  his  young  com- 
panion to  be  silent,  and  turned  back,  stepping  softly.  "  What 
did  you  see?"  asked  the  journalist.  '*  Nothing  particular," 
said  the  clerk.  "  Our  affair  of  the  long  article  is  settled. 
To-morrow  we  shall  have  at  least  three  columns  in  the 
'D^bats.'" 

Another  anecdote  will  again  show  the  influence  of  a  single 
article : 

A  book  of  M.  de  Chateaubriand's  on  the  last  of  the  Stuarts 
was  for  some  time  a  "nightingale"  on  the  bookseller's 
shelves.  A  single  article  in  the  "Journal  des  D6bats  "  sold 
the  work  in  a  week.  In  those  days,  when  there  were  no 
lending  libraries,  a  publisher  would  sell  an  edition  of  ten 
thousand  copies  of  a  book  by  a  Liberal  if  it  was  well  reviewed 
by  the  opposition  papers ;  but  then  the  Belgian  pirated  edi- 
tions were  not  as  yet. 

The  preparatory  attacks  made  by  Lucien's  friends,  followed 
up  by  his  article  on  Nathan,  proved  efficacious ;  they  stopped 
the  sale  of  his  book.  Nathan  escaped  with  the  mortification ; 
he  had  been  paid  ;  he  had  nothing  to  lose  ;  but  Dauriat  was 
likely  to  lose  thirty  thousand  francs.  The  trade  in  new  books 
may,  in  fact,  be  summed  up  much  on  this  wise :  A  ream  of 
blank  paper  costs  fifteen  francs,  a  ream  of  printed  paper  is 
worth  anything  between  a   hundred  sous  and    a    hundred 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  239 

crowns,  according  to  its  success ;  a  favorable  or  unfavorable 
review  at  a  critical  time  often  decides  the  question ;  and 
Dauriat,  having  five  hundred  reams  of  printed  paper  on  hand, 
hurried  to  make  terms  with  Lucien.  The  sultan  was  now  the 
slave. 

After  waiting  for  some  time,  fidgeting  and  making  as  much 
noise  as  he  could  while  parleying  with  Berenice,  he  at  last 
obtained  speech  of  Lucien ;  and,  arrogant  publisher  though 
he  was,  he  came  in  with  the  radiant  air  of  a  courtier  in  the 
royal  presence,  mingled,  however,  with  a  certain  self-suffi- 
ciency and  easy  good-humor. 

"  Don't  disturb  yourselves,  my  little  dears !  How  nice 
they  look,  just  like  a  pair  of  turtle-doves.  Who  would  think 
now,  mademoiselle,  that  he,  with  that  girl's  face  of  his,  could 
be  a  tiger  with  claws  of  steel,  ready  to  tear  a  reputation  to 
rags,  just  as  he  tears  your  wrappers,  I'll  be  bound,  when  you 
are  not  quick  enough  to  unfasten  them,"  and  he  laughed  be- 
fore he  had  finished  his  jest. 

"  My  dear  boy "  he  began,  sitting  down  beside  Lucien. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  am  Dauriat,"  he  said,  interrupting  him- 
self. He  judged  it  expedient  to  fire  his  name  at  her  like  a 
pistol-shot,  for  he  considered  that  Coralie  was  less  cordial 
than  she  should  have  been. 

"  Have  you  breakfasted,  monsieur;  will  you  keep  us  com- 
pany?" asked  Coralie. 

"Why,  yes;  it  is  easier  to  talk  at  table,"  said  Dauriat. 
**  Beside,  by  accepting  your  invitation  I  shall  have  a  right  to 
expect  you  to  dine  with  my  friend  Lucien  here,  for  we  must 
be  close  friends  now,  hand  and  glove  !  " 

"  Berenice  !  Bring  oysters,  lemons,  fresh  butter,  and  cham- 
pagne," said  Coralie. 

"You  are  too  clever  not  to  know  what  has  brought  me 
here,"  said  Dauriat,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Lucien. 

"You  have  come  to  buy  my  sonnets." 

"  Precisely.     First  of  all,  let  us  lay  down  our  arms  on  both 


240  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

sides."  As  he  spoke  he  took  out  a  neat  pocket-book,  drew 
from  it  three  bills  for  a  thousand  francs  each,  and  laid  them 
before  Lucien  with  a  suppliant's  air.  "  Is  monsieur  content  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  poet.  A  sense  of  beatitude,  for  which  no 
words  exist,  flooded  his  soul  at  the  sight  of  that  unhoped 
wealth.  He  controlled  himself,  but  he  longed  to  sing  aloud, 
to  jump  for  joy;  he  was  ready  to  believe  in  Aladdin's  lamp 
and  in  enchantment ;  he  believed  in  his  own  genius,  in  short. 

"Then  the  'Marguerites'  are  mine,"  continued  Dauriat; 
**  but  you  will  undertake  not  to  attack  my  publications,  won't 
you?" 

"  The  '  Marguerites '  are  yours,  but  I  cannot  pledge  my 
pen  ;  it  is  at  the  service  of  my  friends,  as  theirs  are  mine." 

**  But  you  are  one  of  my  authors  now.  All  my  authors  are 
my  friends.  So  you  won't  spoil  my  business  without  warning 
me  beforehand,  so  that  I  am  prepared,  will  you  ?  " 

"I  agree  to  that." 

**  To  your  fame  !  "  and  Dauriat  raised  his  glass. 

**  I  see  that  you  have  read  the  *  Marguerites,' "  said  Lucien. 

Dauriat  was  not  disconcerted. 

**  My  boy,  a  publisher  cannot  pay  a  greater  compliment 
than  by  buying  your  *  Marguerites  '  unread.  In  six  months' 
time  you  will  be  a  great  poet.  You  will  be  written  up  ;  peo- 
ple are  afraid  of  you  ;  I  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  selling  your 
book.  I  am  the  same  man  of  business  that  I  was  four  days 
ago.  It  is  not  I  who  have  changed  ;  it  is  you.  Last  week 
your  sonnets  were  so  many  cabbage-leaves  for  me ;  to-day 
your  position  has  ranked  them  beside  Delavigne." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Lucien,  "  if  you  have  not  read  my  son- 
nets you  have  read  my  article."  With  the  sultan's  pleasure 
of  possessing  a  fair  mistress,  and  the  certainty  of  success,  he 
had  grown  satirical  and  adorably  impertinent  of  late. 

"Yes,  my  friend;  do  you  think  I  should  have  come  here 
in  such  a  hurry  but  for  that  ?    That  terrible  article  of  yours 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS,  241 

is  very  well  written,  worse  luck.  Oh  !  you  have  a  very  great 
gift,  my  boy.  Take  my  advice  and  make  the  most  of  your 
vogue,"  he  added,  with  good  humor,  which  masked  the  ex- 
treme insolence  of  the  speech.  "  But  have  you  yourself  a 
copy  of  the  paper?     Have  you  seen  your  article  in  print?" 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Lucien,  "  though  this  is  the  first  long 
piece  of  prose  which  I  have  published  ;  but  Hector  will  have 
sent  a  copy  to  my  address  in  the  Rue  Chariot." 

"Here — read!"  cried  Dauriat,  copying  Talma's  gesture 
in  "  Manlius." 

Lucien  took  the  paper,  but  Coralie  snatched  it  from  him. 

"  The  first  fruits  of  your  pen  belong  to  me,  as  you  well 
know,"  she  laughed. 

Dauriat  was  unwontedly  courtier-like  and  complimentary. 
He  was  afraid  of  Lucien,  and,  therefore,  he  asked  him  to  a 
great  dinner  which  he  was  giving  to  a  party  of  journalists 
toward  the  end  of  the  week,  and  Coralie  was  included  in  the 
invitation.  He  took  the  "  Marguerites "  away  with  him 
when  he  went,  asking  his  poet  to  look  in  when  he  pleased  in 
the  Wooden  Galleries,  and  the  agreement  should  be  ready  for 
his  signature.  Dauriat  never  forgot  the  royal  airs  with  which 
he  endeavored  to  overawe  superficial  observers  and  to  impress 
them  with  the  notion  that  he  was  a  Maecenas  rather  than  a 
publisher ;  at  this  moment  he  left  the  three  thousand  francs, 
waving  away  in  lordly  fashion  the  receipt  which  Lucien  of- 
fered, kissed  Coralie's  hand,  and  took  his  departure. 

**  Well,  dear  love,  would  you  have  seen  many  of  these  bits 
of  paper  if  you  had  stopped  in  your  hole  in  the  Rue  de  Cluny, 
prowling  about  among  the  musty  old  books  in  the  Biblio- 
theque  (Library)  de  Sainte-Genevidve  ? "  asked  Coralie,  for 
she  knew  the  whole  story  of  Lucien's  life  by  this  time. 
**  Those  little  friends  of  yours  in  the  Rue  des  Quatre- Vents  are 
great  ninnies,  it  seems  to  me." 

His   brothers  of  the  cenacle  /  *    And   Lucien  could  hear 
*  Lit.:  The  chamber  in  which  the  Last  Supper  was  given. 
16 


242  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

the  verdict  and  join  heartily  in  the  laughter  excited  by  the 
remark. 

He  had  seen  himself  in  print ;  he  had  just  experienced  the 
ineffable  joy  of  the  author,  that  first  pleasurable  thrill  of 
gratified  vanity  which  comes  but  once.  The  full  import  and 
bearing  of  his  article  became  apparent  to  him  as  he  read  and 
re-read  it.  The  garb  of  print  is  to  manuscript  as  the  stage  is 
to  women ;  it  brings  beauties  and  defects  to  light,  killing  and 
giving  life  j  the  fine  thoughts  and  the  faults  alike  stare  you  in 
the  face. 

Lucien,  in  his  excitement  and  rapture,  gave  not  another 
thought  to  Nathan.  Nathan  was  a  stepping-stone  for  him — 
that  was  all;  and  he  (Lucien)  was  happy  exceedingly — he 
thought  himself  rich.  The  money  brought  by  Dauriat  was 
a  very  Potosi  for  the  lad  who  used  to  go  about  unnoticed 
through  the  streets  of  Angoulfime  and  down  the  steep  path 
into  L'Houmeau  to  Postel's  garret,  where  his  whole  family 
had  lived  upon  an  income  of  twelve  hundred  francs.  The 
pleasures  of  his  life  in  Paris  must  inevitably  dim  the  memories 
of  those  days ;  but  so  keen  were  they,  that,  as  yet,  he  seemed 
to  be  back  again  in  the  Place  du  MQrier.  He  thought  of  Eve, 
his  beautiful,  noble  sister,  of  David  his  friend,  and  of  his  poor 
mother,  and  he  sent  B6r6nice  out  to  change  one  of  the  notes. 
While  she  went  he  wrote  a  few  lines  to  his  family,  and  on  the 
maid's  return  he  sent  her  to  the  coach-office  with  a  packet  of 
five  hundred  francs  addressed  to  his  mother.  He  could  not 
trust  himself;  he  wanted  to  send  the  money  at  once ;  later 
he  might  not  be  able  to  do  it.  Both  Lucien  and  Coralie 
looked  upon  this  restitution  as  a  meritorious  action.  Coralie 
put  her  arms  about  her  lover  and  kissed  him,  and  thought 
him  a  model  son  and  brother ;  she  could  not  make  enough 
of  him,  for  generosity  is  a  trait  of  character  which  delights 
these  kindly  creatures,  who  always  carry  their  hearts  in  their 
hands. 

"We  have  a  dinner  now  every  day  for  a  week,"  she  said ; 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  243 

**we  will  make  a  little  carnival;  you  have  worked  quite  hard 
enough." 

Coralie,  fain  to  delight  in  the  beauty  of  a  man  whom  all 

other  women  should  envy  her,  took  Lucien  back  to  Staub. 
He  was  not  dressed  finely  enough  for  her.  Thence  the  lovers 
went  to  drive  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  came  back  to  dine 
at  Mme.  du  Val-Noble's,  Rastignac,  Bixiou,  des  Lupeaulx, 
Finot,  Blondet,  Vignon,  the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  Beaudenord, 
Philippe  Bridau,  Conti,  the  great  musician,  all  the  artists  and 
speculators,  all  the  men  who  seek  for  violent  sensations  as  a 
relief  from  immense  labors,  gave  Lucien  a  welcome  among 
them.  And  Lucien  had  gained  confidence ;  he  gave  himself 
out  in  talk  as  though  he  had  not  to  live  by  his  wit,  and  was 
pronounced  to  be  a  "clever  fellow"  in  the  slang  of  the 
coterie  of  semi-comrades. 

"  Oh !  we  must  wait  and  see  what  he  has  in  him,"  said 
Theodore  Gaillard,  a  poet  patronized  by  the  court,  who 
thought  of  starting  a  royalist  paper,  to  be  entitled  the 
"  Reveil,"  at  a  later  day. 

After  dinner,  Merlin  and  Lucien,  Coralie  and  Mme.  du 
Val-Noble,  went  to  the  opera,  where  Merlin  had  a  box.  The 
whole  party  adjourned  thither,  and  Lucien  triumphant  reap- 
peared upon  the  scene  of  his  first  serious  check. 

He  walked  in  the  lobby,  arm-in-arm  with  Merlin  and 
Blondet,  looking  the  dandies,  who  had  once  made  merry  at 
his  expense,  between  the  eyes.  Chatelet  was  under  his  feet. 
He  clashed  glances  with  de  Marsay,  Vandenesse,  and  Maner- 
ville,  the  bucks  of  that  day.  And  indeed  Lucien,  beautiful  and 
elegantly  arrayed,  had  caused  a  discussion  in  the  Marquise  d'Es- 
pard's  box;  Rastignac  had  paid  a  long  visit,  and  the  Marquise 
and  Mme.  de  Bargeton  put  up  their  opera-glasses  at  Coralie. 
Did  the  sight  of  Lucien  send  a  pang  of  regret  through  Mme. 
de  Bargeton's  heart  ?  This  thought  was  uppermost  in  the 
poet's  mind.     The  longing  for  revenge  aroused  in  him  by  the 


244  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

sight  of  the  Corinne  of  AngoulSme  was  as  fierce  as  on  that  day 
when  the  lady  and  her  cousin  had  cut  him  in  the  Champs- 
Elysees. 

"  Did  you  bring  an  amulet  with  you  from  the  provinces?  " 
It  was  Blondet  who  made  this  inquiry  some  few  days  later,  when 
he  called  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  found  that 
Lucien  was  not  yet  risen.  '*  His  good  looks  are  making  rav- 
ages from  cellar  to  garret,  high  and  low,"  continued  Blondet, 
kissing  Coralie  on  the  forehead.  "I  have  come  to  enlist 
you,  dear  fellow,"  he  continued,  grasping  Lucien  by  the 
hand.  **  Yesterday,  at  the  Italiens,  the  Comtesse  de  Mont- 
cornet  asked  me  to  bring  you  to  her  house.  You  will  not 
give  a  refusal  to  a  charming  woman  ?  You  meet  people  of 
the  first  fashion  there." 

"If  Lucien  is  nice,  he  will  not  go  to  see  your  Countess," 
put  in  Coralie.  "  What  call  is  there  for  him  to  show  his  face 
in  fine  society?     He  would  only  be  bored  there." 

"Have  you  a  vested  interest  in  him?  Are  you  jealous  of 
fine  ladies?  " 

**  Yes,"  cried  Coralie.     "They  are  worse  than  we  are." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  my  pet  ?  "  asked  Blondet. 

"From  their  husbands,"  retorted  she.  "You  are  forget- 
ting that  I  once  had  six  months  of  de  Marsay." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  child,  that  /  am  particularly  anxious  to 
take  such  a  handsome  fellow  as  your  poet  to  Madame  de  Mont- 
cornet's  house?  If  you  object,  let  us  consider  that  nothing 
has  been  said.  But  I  don't  fancy  that  the  women  are  so  much 
in  the  question  as  a  poor  devil  that  Lucien  pilloried  in  his 
newspaper ;  he  is  begging  for  mercy  and  peace.  The  Baron 
du  Chatelet  is  imbecile  enough  to  take  the  thing  seriously. 
The  Marquise  d'Espard,  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  and  Mme.  de 
Montcornet's  set  have  taken  up  the  heron's  cause  ;  and  I  have 
undertaken  to  reconcile  Petrarch  and  his  Laura — Mme.  de 
Bargeton  and  Lucien." 

"Aha!  "   cried  Lucien,  the  glow  of  the  intoxication  of 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  245 

revenge  throbbing  full-pulsed  through  every  vein.  *'  Aha  !  so 
my  foot  is  on  their  necks  !  You  make  me  adore  my  pen, 
worship  my  friends,  bow  down  to  the  fate-dispensing  power 
of  the  press.  I  have  not  written  a  single  sentence  as  yet  upon 
the  heron  and  the  cuttlefish-bone.  I  will  go  with  you,  my 
boy,"  he  cried,  catching  Blondet  by  the  waist ;  *'  yes,  I  will 
go ;  but,  first,  the  couple  shall  feel  the  weight  of  this,  for  so 
light  as  it  is."  He  flourished  the  pen  which  had  written  the 
article  upon  Nathan. 

*'  To-morrow,"  he  cried,  "I  will  hurl  a  couple  of  columns 
at  their  heads.  Then,  we  will  see.  Don't  be  frightened, 
Coralie,  it  is  not  love  but  revenge ;  revenge !  And  I  will 
have  it  to  the  full!  " 

"  What  a  man  it  is  !  "  said  Blondet.  "If  you  but  knew, 
Lucien,  how  rare  such  explosions  are  in  this  jaded  Paris,  you 
might  appreciate  yourself.  You  will  be  a  precious  scamp  " 
(the  actual  expression  was  a  trifle  stronger);  " you  are  in  a 
fair  way  to  be  a  power  in  the  land." 

"He  will  get  on,"  said  Coralie. 

"  Well,  he  has  come  a  good  way  already  in  six  weeks." 

"  And  if  he  should  climb  so  high  that  he  can  reach  a 
sceptre  by  treading  over  a  corpse,  he  shall  have  Coralie's  body 
for  a  stepping-stone,"  said  the  girl. 

"You  are  a  pair  of  lovers  of  the  Golden  Age,"  said 
Blondet.  "I  congratulate  you  on  your  big  article,"  he 
added,  turning  to  Lucien.  "  There  were  a  lot  of  new  things 
in  it.     You  are  pastmaster  !  " 

Lousteau  called  with  Hector  Merlin  and  Vernou.  Lucien 
was  immensely  flattered  by  this  attention.  F6licien  Vernou 
brought  a  hundred  francs  for  Lucien's  article ;  it  was  felt  that 
such  a  contributor  must  be  well  paid  to  attach  him  to  the 
paper. 

Coralie,  looking  round  at  the  chapter  of  journalists,  ordered 
in  a  breakfast  from  the  "  Cadran  Bleau,"  the  nearest  restaurant, 
and  asked  her  visitors  to  adjourn  to  her  handsomely  furnished 


246  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

dining-room  when  Berenice  announced  that  the  meal  was 
ready.  In  the  middle  of  the  repast,  when  the  champagne  had 
gone  to  all  heads,  the  motive  of  the  visit  came  out. 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  make  an  enemy  of  Nathan,  do  you?  " 
asked  Lousteau.  "  Nathan  is  a  journalist,  and  he  has  friends ; 
he  might  play  you  an  ugly  trick  with  your  first  book.  You 
have  your  'Archer  of  Charles  IX.'  to  sell,  have  you  not? 
We  went  around  to  Nathan  this  morning ;  he  is  in  a  terrible 
way.  But  you  will  set  about  another  article  and  puff  praise 
in  his  face." 

"  What !  After  my  article  against  his  book,  would  you 
have  me  say "  began  Lucien. 

The  whole  party  cut  him  short  with  a  shout  of  laughter. 

**  Did  you  ask  him  to  supper  here  the  day  after  to-morrow?" 
asked  Blondet. 

"Your  article  was  not  signed,"  added  Lousteau.  *' Feli- 
cien,  not  being  quite  such  a  new  hand  as  you  are,  was  careful 
to  put  an  initial  C  at  the  bottom.  You  can  do  that  now  with 
all  your  articles  in  his  paper,  which  is  pure  unadulterated  Left. 
We  are  all  of  us  in  the  opposition.  Felicien  was  tactful 
enough  not  to  compromise  your  future  opinions.  Hector's 
shop  is  Right  Centre ;  you  might  sign  your  work  on  it  with  an 
L.  If  you  cut  a  man  up,  you  do  it  anonymously  j  if  you 
praise  him,  it  is  just  as  well  to  put  your  name  to  your  article." 

"It  is  not  the  signatures  that  trouble  me,"  returned  Lucien, 
"but  I  cannot  see  anything  to  be  said  in  favor  of  the  book." 

" Then  did  you  really  think  as  you  wrote? "  asked  Hector. 

"Yes." 

"Oh!  I  thought  you  were  cleverer  than  that,  youngster," 
said  Blondet.  "  No.  Upon  my  word,  as  I  looked  at  that 
forehead  of  yours  I  credited  you  with  the  omnipotence  of  the 
great  mind — the  power  of  seeing  both  sides  of  everything. 
In  literature,  my  boy,  every  idea  is  reversible,  and  no  man 
can  take  upon  himself  to  decide  which  is  the  right  or  wrong 
side.     Everything   is  bilateral   in   the  domain  of  thought. 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  247 

Ideas  are  binary.  Janus  is  a  fable  signifying  criticism  and 
the  symbol  of  genius.  The  Almighty  alone  is  triform.  What 
raises  Moliere  and  Corneille  above  the  rest  of  us  but  the 
faculty  of  saying  one  thing  with  an  Alceste  or  an  Octave,  and 
another  with  a  Philinte  or  a  Cinna?  Rousseau  wrote  a  letter 
against  dueling  in  the  *  Nouvelle  Heloise,'  and  another  in 
favor  of  it.  Which  of  the  two  represented  his  own  opinion  ? 
will  you  venture  to  take  it  upon  yourself  to  decide  ?  Which 
of  us  could  give  judgment  for  Clarissa  or  Lovelace,  Hector 
or  Achilles  ?  Who  was  Homer's  hero  ?  What  did  Richard- 
son himself  think?  It  is  the  function  of  criticism  to  look  at 
a  man's  work  in  all  its  aspects.  We  draw  up  our  case,  in 
short." 

"Do  you  really  stick  to  your  written  opinions?"  asked 
Vernou,  with  a  satirical  expression.  **  Why,  we  are  retailers 
of  phrases  j  that  is  how  we  make  a  livelihood.  When  you  try 
to  do  a  good  piece  of  work — to  write  a  book,  in  short — you 
can  put  your  thoughts,  yourself  into  it,  and  cling  to  it,  and 
fight  for  it ;  but  as  for  newspaper  articles,  read  to-day  and 
forgotten  to-morrow,  they  are  worth  nothing  in  my  eyes  but 
the  money  that  is  paid  for  them.  If  you  attach  any  import- 
ance to  such  drivel,  you  might  as  well  make  the  sign  of  the 
cross  and  invoke  heaven  when  you  sit  down  to  write  a  trades- 
man's circular." 

Every  one  apparently  was  astonished  at  Lucien's  scruples. 
The  last  rags  of  the  boyish  conscience  were  torn  away,  and  he 
was  invested  with  the  toga  virilis  of  journalism. 

**  Do  you  know  what  Nathan  said  by  way  of  comforting 
himself  after  your  criticism  ?  "  asked  Lousteau. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"Nathan  exclaimed,  'Paragraphs  pass  away;  but  a  great 
work  lives  !  '  He  will  be  here  to  supper  in  two  days,  and  he 
will  be  sure  to  fall  flat  at  your  feet,  and  kiss  your  claws,  and 
swear  that  you  are  a  great  man." 

**  That  would  be  a  funny  thing,"  was  Lucien's  comment. 


248  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

*' Funny!''  repeated  Blondet.     "He  can't  help  himself." 

**I  am  quite  willing,  my  friends,"  said  Lucien,  on  whom 
the  wine  had  begun  to  take  effect.     "  But  what  am  I  to  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  refute  yourself  in  three  good  columns  in  Mer- 
lin's paper.  We  have  been  enjoying  the  sight  of  Nathan's 
wrath ;  we  have  just  been  telling  him  that  he  owes  us  no  little 
gratitude  for  getting  up  a  hot  controversy  that  will  sell  his 
second  edition  in  a  week.  In  his  eyes  at  this  present  moment 
you  are  a  spy,  a  scoundrel,  a  caitiff  wretch  ;  the  day  after  to- 
morrow you  will  be  a  genius,  an  uncommonly  clever  fellow, 
one  of  Plutarch's  men.  Nathan  will  hug  you  and  call  you  his 
best  friend.  Dauriat  has  been  to  see  you ;  you  have  your 
three  thousand  francs ;  you  have  worked  the  trick  !  Now 
you  want  Nathan's  respect  and  esteem.  Nobody  ought  to  be 
let  in  except  the  publisher.  We  must  not  immolate  any  one 
but  an  enemy.  We  should  not  talk  like  this  if  it  were  a  ques- 
tion of  some  outsider,  some  inconvenient  person  who  had 
made  a  name  for  himself  without  us  and  was  not  wanted  ;  but 
Nathan  is  one  of  us.  Blondet  got  some  one  to  attack  him  in 
the  *  Mercure  '  for  the  pleasure  of  replying  in  the  *  Debats.' 
For  which  reason  the  first  edition  went  off  at  once. ' ' 

**  My  friends,  upon  my  word  and  honor,  I  cannot  write 
two  words  in  praise  of  that  book " 

"You  will  have  another  hundred  francs,"  interrupted  Mer- 
lin. "  Nathan  will  have  brought  you  in  ten  louis  d'or,  to  say 
nothing  of  an  article  that  you  might  put  in  Finot's  paper ; 
you  would  get  a  hundred  francs  for  writing  that,  and  another 
hundred  francs  from  Dauriat — total,  twenty  louis." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  say  ?  " 

**  Here  is  your  way  out  of  the  difficulty,"  said  Blondet,  after 
some  thought.  **  Say  that  the  envy  that  fastens  on  all  good 
work,  like  wasps  on  ripe  fruit,  has  attempted  to  set  its  fangs 
in  this  production.  The  captious  critic,  trying  his  best  to 
find  fault,  has  been  obliged  to  invent  theories  for  that  purpose 
and  has  drawn  a  distinction  between  two  kinds  of  literature — 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  249 

*the  literature  of  ideas  and  the  literature  of  imagery,'  as  he 
calls  them.  On  the  heads  of  that,  youngster,  say  that  to  give 
expression  to  ideas  through  imagery  is  the  highest  form  of  art. 
Try  to  show  that  all  poetry  is  summed  up  in  that,  and  lament 
that  there  is  so  little  poetry  in  French ;  quote  foreign  criti- 
cisms on  the  unimaginative  precision  of  our  style,  and  then 
extol  M.  de  Canalis  and  Nathan  for  the  services  they  have 
done  France  by  infusing  a  less  prosaic  spirit  into  the  language. 
Knock  your  previous  argument  to  pieces  by  calling  attention 
to  the  fact  that  we  have  made  progress  since  the  eighteenth 
century.  (Discover  the  *  progress,'  a  beautiful  word  to  mystify 
the  bourgeois  public.)  Say  that  the  new  methods  in  literature 
concentrate  all  styles,  comedy  and  tragedy,  description,  char- 
acter-drawing and  dialogue,  in  a  series  of  pictures  set  in  the 
brilliant  frame  of  a  plot  which  holds  the  reader's  interest. 
The  novel  which  demands  sentiment,  style,  and  imagery  is 
the  greatest  creation  of  modern  days ;  it  is  the  successor  of 
stage  comedy  grown  obsolete  with  its  restrictions.  Facts  and 
ideas  are  all  within  the  province  of  fiction.  The  intellect  of 
an  incisive  moralist,  like  La  Bruyere,  the  power  of  treating 
character  as  Moliere  could  treat  it,  the  grand  machinery  of  a 
Shakespeare,  together  with  the  portrayal  of  the  most  subtle 
shades  of  passion  (the  one  treasury  left  untouched  by  our  pre- 
decessors)— for  all  this  the  modern  novel  affords  free  scope. 
How  far  superior  in  all  this  to  the  cut-and-dried  logic-chop- 
ping, the  cold  analysis  to  the  eighteenth  century  !  '  The 
novel,'  say  sententiously,  '  is  the  epic  grown  amusing.'  In- 
stance *  Corinne,'  bring  Madame  de  Stael  up  to  support  your 
argument.  The  eighteenth  century  called  all  things  in  ques- 
tion ;  it  is  the  task  of  the  nineteenth  to  conclude  and  speak 
the  last  word;  and  the  last  word  of  the  nineteenth  century - 
has  been  for  realities — realities  which  live,  however,  and  move. 
Passion,  in  short,  an  element  unknown  in  Voltaire's  philos- 
ophy, has  been  brought  into  play.  Here  a  diatribe  against 
Voltaire,  and,  as  for  Rousseau,  his  characters  are  polemics  and 


250  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS 

systems  masquerading.  Julie  and  Claire  are  entelechies — in- 
forming spirit  awaiting  flesh  and  bones. 

"You  might  slip  off"  on  a  side-issue  at  this,  and  say  that  we 
owe  a  new  and  original  literature  to  the  peace  and  the  restora- 
tion of  the  Bourbons,  for  you  are  writing  for  a  Right  Centre 
paper. 

"  Scoff  at  founders  of  systems.  And  cry  with  a  glow  of 
fine  enthusiasm,  *  Here  are  errors  and  misleading  statements 
in  abundance  in  our  contemporary's  work,  and  to  what  end? 
To  depreciate  a  fine  work,  to  deceive  the  public,  and  to  arrive 
at  this  conclusion — "A  book  that  sells,  does  not  sell."  ' 
Proh  pudor  !  (Mind  you  put  Froh  pudor  /  'tis  a  harmless  ex- 
pletive that  stimulates  the  reader's  interest.)  Foresee  the 
approaching  decadence  of  criticism,  in  fact.  Moral — *  There 
is  but  one  kind  of  literature,  the  literature  which  aims  to 
please.  Nathan  has  started  upon  a  new  way  ;  he  understands 
his  epoch  and  fulfills  the  requirements  of  his  age — the  demand 
for  drama,  the  natural  demand  of  a  century  in  which  the 
political  stage  has  become  a  permanent  puppet  show.  Have 
we  not  seen  four  dramas  in  a  score  of  years — the  Revolution, 
the  Directory,  the  Empire,  and  the  Restoration  ? '  With  that, 
wallow  in  dithyramb  and  eulogy,  and  the  second  edition 
shall  vanish  like  smoke.  This  is  the  way  to  do  it.  Next 
Saturday  put  a  review  in  our  magazine,  and  sign  it  *  de  Ru- 
bemprd,'  out  in  full. 

"In  that  final  article  say  that  'fine  work  always  brings 
about  abundant  controversy.  This  week  such  and  such  a 
paper  contained  such  and  such  an  article  on  Nathan's  book, 
and  such  another  paper  made  a  vigorous  reply. '  Then  you 
criticise  the  critics  *  C  '  and  *  L  ; '  pay  me  a  passing  compli- 
ment on  the  first  article  in  the  '  Debats,'  and  end  by  averring 
that  Nathan's  work  is  the  great  book  of  the  epoch  ;  which  is 
all  as  if  you  had  said  nothing  at  all ;  they  say  the  same  of 
everything  that  comes  out. 

"And  so,"  continued  Blondet,  "you  will  have  made  four 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  261 

hundred  francs  iii  a  week,  to  say  nothing  of  the  pleasure  of 
now  and  again  saying  what  you  really  think.  A  discerning 
public  will  maintain  that  either  C  or  L  or  Rubempre  is  in  the 
right  of  it,  or  mayhap  all  the  three.  Mythology,  beyond 
doubt  one  of  the  grandest  inventions  of  the  human  brain, 
places  truth  at  the  bottom  of  a  well ;  and  what  are  we  to  do 
without  buckets?  You  will  have  supplied  the  public  with 
three  for  one.     There  you  are,  my  boy.     Go  ahead  !  " 

Lucien's  head  was  swimming  with  bewilderment.  Blondet 
kissed  him  on  both  cheeks. 

"I  am  going  to  my  shop,"  said  he.  And  every  man  like- 
wise departed  to  his  shop.  For  these  ^^hommes  forts  **  (dex- 
terous men),  a  newspaper  ofl&ce  was  nothing  but  a  shop. 

They  were  to  meet  again  in  the  evening  in  the  Wooden 
Galleries,  and  Lucien  would  sign  his  treaty  of  peace  with 
Dauriat.  Florine  and  Lousteau,  Lucien  and  Coralie,  Blondet 
and  Finot  were  to  dine  in  the  Palais-Royal ;  du  Bruel  was 
giving  the  manager  of  the  Panorama-Dramatique  a  dinner. 

"They  are  right,"  exclaimed  Lucien,  when  he  was  alone 
with  Coralie.  "  Men  are  made  to  be  tools  in  the  hands  of 
stronger  spirits.  Four  hundred  francs  for  three  articles ! 
Doguereau  would  scarcely  give  me  as  much  for  a  book  which 
cost  me  two  years  of  work." 

"Write  criticism,"  said  Coralie,  "have  a  good  time! 
Look  at  me,  I  am  an  Andalusian  girl  to-night,  to-morrow  I 
may  be  a  gypsy,  and  a  man  the  night  after.  Do  as  I  do,  give 
them  grimaces  for  their  money  and  let  us  live  happily." 

Lucien,  smitten  with  love  of  paradox,  set  himself  to  mount 
and  ride  that  unruly  hybrid  product  of  pegasus  and  Balaam's 
ass ;  started  out  at  a  gallop  over  the  fields  of  thought  while 
he  took  a  turn  in  the  Bois,  and  discovered  new  possibilities 
in  Blondet's  outline. 

He  dined  as  happy  people  dine,  and  signed  away  all  his 
rights  in  the  "Marguerites."  It  never  occurred  to  him  that 
any  trouble  might  arise  from  that  transaction  in  the  future. 


252  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

He  took  a  turn  of  work  at  the  office,  wrote  off  a  couple  of 
columns,  and  came  back  to  the  Rue  de  Vendome.  Next 
morning  he  found  that  the  germs  of  yesterday's  ideas  had 
sprung  up  and  developed  in  his  brain,  as  ideas  develop  while 
the  intellect  is  yet  unjaded  and  the  sap  is  rising ;  and  thor- 
oughly did  he  enjoy  the  projection  of  this  new  article.  He 
threw  himself  into  it  with  enthusiasm.  At  the  summons  of 
the  spirit  of  contradiction,  new  charms  met  beneath  his  pen. 
He  was  witty  and  satirical ;  he  rose  to  yet  newer  views  of  sen- 
timent, of  ideas  and  imagery  in  literature.  With  subtle  in- 
genuity, he  went  back  to  his  own  first  impressions  of  Nathan's 
work,  when  he  read  it  in  the  newsroom  of  the  Cour  du  Com- 
merce ;  and  the  ruthless,  bloodthirsty  critic,  the  lively  mocker, 
became  a  poet  in  the  final  phrases  which  rose  and  fell  with 
majestic  rhythm  like  the  swaying  censer  before  the  altar. 

"One  hundred  francs,  Coralie  !  "  cried  he,  holding  up 
eight  sheets  of  paper  covered  with  writing  while  she  dressed. 

The  mood  was  upon  him ;  he  went  on  to  indite,  stroke  by 
stroke,  the  promised  terrible  article  on  Chatelet  and  Mme.  de 
Bargeton.  That  morning  he  experienced  one  of  the  keenest 
personal  pleasures  of  journalism ;  he  knew  what  it  was  to 
forge  the  epigram,  to  whet  and  polish  the  cold  blade  to  be 
sheathed  in  a  victim's  heart,  to  make  of  the  hilt  a  cunning 
piece  of  workmanship  for  the  reader  to  admire.  For  the 
public  admires  the  handle,  the  delicate  work  of  the  brain, 
while  the  cruelty  is  not  apparent ;  how  should  the  public 
know  that  the  steel  of  the  epigram,  tempered  in  the  fire  of 
revenge,  has  been  plunged  deftly,  to  rankle  in  the  very  quick 
of  a  victim's  vanity,  and  is  reeking  from  wounds  innumerable 
which  it  has  inflicted  ?  It  is  a  hideous  joy,  that  grim,  soli- 
tary pleasure,  relished  without  witnesses ;  it  is  like  a  duel 
with  an  absent  enemy,  slain  at  a  distance  by  a  quill ;  a  jour- 
nalist might  really  possess  the  magical  power  of  talismans  in 
Eastern  tales.  Epigram  is  distilled  rancor,  the  quintessence 
of  a  hat?  derived  from  all  the  worst  passions  of  man,  even  as 


"one  hundred   francs,   CORALlEl"   CRIED   HE. 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  253 

love  concentrates  all  that  is  best  in  human  nature.  The  man 
does  not  exist  who  cannot  be  witty  to  avenge  himself;  and, 
by  the  same  rule,  there  is  not  one  to  whom  love  does  not 
bring  delight.  Cheap  and  easy  as  this  kind  of  wit  may  be  in 
France,  it  is  always  relished.  Lucien's  article  was  destined  to 
raise  the  previous  reputation  of  the  paper  for  venomous  spite 
and  evil-speaking.  His  article  probed  two  hearts  to  the 
depths ;  it  dealt  a  grievous  wound  to  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  his 
Laura  of  old  days,  as  well,  also,  as  to  his  rival,  the  Baron  du 
Chatelet. 

**Well,  let  us  go  for  a  drive  in  the  Bois,"  said  Coralie, 
'*  the  horses  are  fidgeting.     There  is  no  need  to  kill  yourself." 

"  We  will  take  the  article  on  Nathan  to  Hector.  Journal- 
ism is  really  very  much  like  Achilles'  lance,  it  salves  the 
wounds  that  it  makes,"  said  Lucien,  correcting  a  phrase  here 
and  there. 

The  lovers  started  forth  in  splendor  to  show  themselves  to 
the  Paris  which  had  but  lately  given  Lucien  the  cold  shoulder, 
and  now  was  beginning  to  talk  about  him.  To  have  Paris 
talking  of  you !  and  this  after  you  have  learned  how  large  the 
great  city  is,  how  hard  it  is  to  be  anybody  there — it  was  this 
thought  that  turned  Lucien's  head  with  exultation. 

"  Let  us  go  by  way  of  your  tailor's,  dear  boy,  and  tell  him 
to  be  quick  with  your  clothes,  or  try  them  on  if  they  are 
ready.  If  you  are  going  to  your  fine  ladies'  houses,  you  shall 
eclipse  that  monster  of  a  de  Marsay  and  young  Rastignac, 
and  any  Ajuda-Pinto  or  Maxime  de  Trailles  or  Vandenesse  of 
them  all.  Remember  that  your  mistress  is  Coralie  !  But 
you  will  not  play  me  any  tricks,  eh?" 

Two  days  afterward,  on  the  eve  of  the  supper-party  at 
Coralie's  house,  there  was  a  new  play  at  the  Ambigu,  and  it 
fell  to  Lucien  to  write  the  dramatic  criticism.  Lucien  and 
Coralie  walked  together  after  dinner  from  the  Rue  de  Ven- 
dome  to  the  Panorama-Dramatique,  going  along  the  Caf6 
Turc  side  of  the  Boulevard  du  Temple,  a  lounge  much  fre- 


254  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

quented  at  that  time.  People  wondered  at  his  luck  and  praised 
Coralie's  beauty.  Chance  remarks  reached  his  ears ;  some 
said  that  Coralie  was  the  finest  woman  in  Paris,  others  that 
Lucien  was  a  match  for  her.  The  romantic  youth  felt  that 
he  was  in  his  atmosphere.  This  was  the  life  for  him.  The 
brotherhood  was  so  far  away  that  it  was  almost  out  of  sight. 
Only  two  months  ago  how  he  had  looked  up  to  those  lofty 
great  natures ;  now  he  asked  himself  if  they  were  not  just  a 
trifle  ridiculous  with  their  notions  and  their  puritanism.  Cor- 
alie's careless  words  had  lodged  in  Lucien's  mind,  and  begun 
already  to  bear  fruit.  He  took  Coralie  to  her  dressing-room, 
and  strolled  about  like  a  sultan  behind  the  scenes ;  the  act- 
resses gave  him  burning  glances  and  flattering  speeches. 

'*  I  must  go  to  the  Ambigu  and  attend  to  business,"  said  he. 

At  the  Ambigu  the  house  was  full ;  there  was  not  a  seat  left 
for  him.  Indignant  complaints  behind  the  scenes  brought  no 
redress ;  the  box-office  keeper,  who  did  not  know  him  as  yet, 
said  that  they  had  sent  orders  for  two  boxes  to  his  paper,  and 
sent  him  about  his  business. 

"  I  shall  speak  of  the  play  as  I  find  it,"  said  Lucien,  nettled 
at  this. 

*'  What  a  dunce  you  are  !  "  said  the  leading  lady,  address- 
ing the  box-office  keeper,  "  that  is  Coralie's  adorer." 

The  box-office  keeper  turned  round  immediately  at  this. 
**  I  will  speak  to  the  manager  at  once,  sir,"  he  said. 

In  all  these  small  details  Lucien  saw  the  immense  power 
wielded  by  the  press.  His  vanity  was  gratified.  The  mana- 
ger appeared  to  say  that  the  Due  de  Rhetord  and  Tullia  the 
opera-dancer  were  in  the  stage-box,  and  they  had  consented 
to  allow  Lucien  to  join  them. 

"You  have  driven  two  people  to  distraction,"  remarked 
the  young  Duke,  mentioning  the  names  of  the  Baron  du 
Chitelet  and  Mme.  de  Bargeton. 

"  Distraction  ?  What  will  it  be  to-morrow  ?  "  said  Lucien. 
**  So  far,  my  friends  have  been  mere  skirmishers,  but  I  have 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  2B5 

given  them  red-hot  shot  to-night.  To-morrow  you  will  know 
why  we  are  making  game  of  *  Potelet.*  The  article  is  called 
'Potelet  from  1811  to  1821.'  Chatelet  will  be  a  by-word,  a 
name  for  the  type  of  courtier  who  deny  their  benefactor  and 
rally  to  the  Bourbons.  When  I  have  done  with  him,  I  am 
going  to  Madame  de  Montcornet's." 

Lucien's  talk  was  sparkling.  He  was  eager  that  this  great 
personage  should  see  how  gross  a  mistake  Mesdames  d'Espard 
and  de  Bargeton  had  made  when  they  slighted  Lucien  de 
Rubempre.  But  he  showed  the  tip  of  his  ear  when  he  as- 
serted his  right  to  bear  the  name  of  Rubempre,  the  Due  de 
Rhetord  having  purposely  addressed  him  as  Chardon. 

"You  should  go  over  to  the  Royalists,"  said  the  Duke. 
**  You  have  proved  yourself  a  man  of  ability  j  now  show  your 
good  sense.  The  one  way  of  obtaining  a  patent  of  nobility 
and  the  right  to  bear  the  title  of  your  mother's  family  is  by 
asking  for  it  in  return  for  services  to  be  rendered  to  the  court. 
The  Liberals  will  never  make  a  count  of  you.  The  restoration 
will  get  the  better  of  the  press,  you  see,  in  the  long  run,  and 
the  press  is  the  only  formidable  power.  They  have  borne 
with  it  too  long  as  it  is;  the  press  is  sure  to  be  muzzled. 
Take  advantage  of  the  last  moments  of  liberty  to  make  your- 
self formidable,  and  you  will  have  everything  —  intellect, 
nobility,  and  good  looks ;  nothing  will  be  out  of  your  reach. 
So  if  you  are  a  Liberal,  let  it  be  simply  for  the  moment,  so 
that  you  can  make  a  better  bargain  for  your  Royalism." 

With  that  the  Duke  intreated  Lucien  to  accept  an  invita- 
tion to  dinner,  which  the  German  minister  (of  Florine's 
supper-party)  was  about  to  send.  Lucien  fell  under  the  charm 
of  the  noble  peer's  arguments ;  the  salons  from  which  he  had 
been  exiled  for  ever,  as  he  thought,  but  a  few  months  ago, 
would  shortly  open  their  doors  for  him  !  He  was  delighted. 
He  marveled  at  the  power  of  the  press;  Intellect  and  the 
Press,  these  then  were  the  real  powers  in  society.  Another 
thought  shaped  itself  in  his  mind — Was  Etienne  Lousteau 


256  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PA  HIS. 

sorry  that  he  had  opened  the  gate  of  the  temple  to  a  new- 
comer? Even  now  he  (Lucien)  felt  on  his  own  account  that 
it  was  strongly  advisable  to  put  difficulties  in  the  way  of  eager 
and  ambitious  recruits  from  the  provinces.  If  a  poet  should 
come  to  him  as  he  had  flung  himself  into  Etienne's  arms,  he 
dared  not  think  of  the  reception  that  he  would  give  him. 

The  youthful  Duke  meanwhile  saw  that  Lucien  was  deep  in 
thought  and  made  a  pretty  good  guess  at  the  matter  of  his 
meditations.  He  himself  had  opened  out  wide  horizons  of 
public  life  before  an  ambitious  poet,  with  a  vacillating  will,  it 
is  true,  but  not  without  aspirations ;  and  the  journalists  had 
already  shown  the  neophyte,  from  a  pinnacle  of  the  temple, 
all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  of  letters  and  its  riches. 

Lucien  himself  had  no  suspicion  of  a  little  plot  that  was 
being  woven,  nor  did  he  imagine  that  M.  de  Rhdtore  had  a 
hand  in  it.  M.  de  Rhetore  had  ::poken  of  Lucien's  clever- 
ness, and  Mme.  d'Espard's  set  had  taken  alarm.  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  had  commissioned  the  Duke  to  sound  Lucien,  and 
with  that  object  in  view  the  noble  youth  had  come  to  the 
Ambigu-Comique. 

Do  not  believe  in  stories  of  elaborate  treachery.  Neither 
the  great  world  nor  the  world  of  journalists  laid  any  deep 
schem.es;  definite  plans  are  not  made  by  either;  their  Machi- 
avellism  lives  from  hand  to  mouth,  so  to  speak,  and  consists, 
for  the  most  part,  in  being  always  on  the  spot,  always  on  the 
alert  to  turn  everything  to  account,  always  on  the  watch  for 
the  moment  when  a  man's  ruling  passion  shall  deliver  him 
into  the  hands  of  his  enemies.  The  young  Duke  had  seen 
through  Lucien  at  Florine's  supper-party ;  he  had  just  touched 
his  vain  susceptibilities  ;  and  now  he  was  trying  his  first 
efforts  in  diplomacy  upon  the  living  subject. 

Lucien  hurried  to  the  Rue  Saint-Fiacre  after  the  play  to 
write  his  article.  It  was  a  piece  of  savage  and  bitter  criticism, 
written  in  pure  wantonness  ;  he  was  amusing  himself  by  trying 
his  power.     The  melodrama,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  a  better 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  267 

piece  than  the  "Alcalde;"  but  Lucien  wished  to  see  whether 
he  could  damn  a  good  play  and  send  everybody  to  see  a  bad 
one,  as  his  associates  had  said. 

He  unfolded  the  sheet  at  breakfast  next  morning,  telling 
Coralie  as  he  did  so  that  he  had  cut  up  the  Ambigu-Comique ; 
and  not  a  little  astonished  was  he  to  find  below  his  paper  on 
Mme.  de  Bargeton  and  Chatelet  a  notice  of  the  Ambigu,  so 
mellowed  and  softened  in  the  course  of  the  night  that,  although 
the  witty  analysis  was  still  preserved,  the  judgment  was  favor- 
able. The  article  was  more  likely  to  fill  the  house  than  to 
empty  it.  No  words  can  describe  his  wrath.  He  determined 
to  have  a  word  or  two  with  Lousteau.  He  had  begun  already 
to  think  himself  an  indispensable  man,  and  he  vowed  that  he 
would  not  submit  to  be  tyrannized  over  and  treated  like  a 
fool.  To  establish  his  power  beyond  cavil,  he  wrote  the 
article  for  Dauriat's  review,  summing  up  and  weighing  all  the 
various  opinions  concerning  Nathan's  book ;  and  while  he 
was  in  the  humor,  he  hit  off  another  of  his  short  sketches  for 
Lousteau' s  newspaper.  Inexperienced  journalists,  in  the  first 
effervescence  of  youth,  make  a  labor  of  love  of  ephemeral 
work  and  lavish  their  best  thought  unthriftily  thereon. 

The  manager  of  the  Panorama- Dramatique  gave  a  first  per- 
formance of  a  vaudeville  that  night,  so  that  Florine  and 
Coralie  might  be  free  for  the  evening.  There  were  to  be 
cards  before  supper.  Lousteau  came  for  the  short  notice  of 
the  vaudeville;  it  had  been  written  beforehand  after  the 
general  rehearsal,  for  Etienne  wished  to  have  the  paper  oflF 
his  mind.  Lucien  read  over  one  of  the  charming  sketches 
of  Parisian  whimsicalities  which  made  the  fortune  of  the  paper, 
and  Lousteau  kissed  him  on  both  eyelids  and  called  him  the 
providence  of  journalism. 

*'  Then  why  do  you  amuse  yourself  by  turning  my  article 
inside  out? "asked  Lucien.  He  had  written  his  brilliant 
sketch  simply  and  solely  to  give  emphasis  to  his  grievance. 

**//"  exclaimed  Lousteau. 
17 


258  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

"  Well,  who  else  can  have  altered  my  article  ?  "  said  Lucien. 

"  You  do  not  know  all  the  ins  and  outs  yet,  dear  fellow. 
The  Ambigu  pays  for  thirty  copies,  and  only  takes  nine  for 
the  manager  and  box-office  keeper  and  their  mistresses,  and 
for  the  three  lessees  of  the  theatre.  Every  one  of  the  boule- 
vard theatres  pays  eight  hundred  francs  in  this  way  to  the 
paper  ;  and  there  is  quite  as  much  again  in  boxes  and  orders 
for  Finot,  to  say  nothing  of  the  contributions  of  the  com- 
pany. And  if  the  minor  theatres  do  this,  you  may  imagine 
what  the  big  ones  do  !  Now  you  understand  ?  We  are  bound 
to  show  a  good  deal  of  indulgence. ' ' 

"  I  understand  this,  that  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  write  as  I 
think " 

**  Eh  !  what  does  that  matter,  so  long  as  you  turn  an  honest 
penny?"  cried  Lousteau.  ** Beside,  my  boy,  what  grudge 
had  you  against  the  theatre  ?  You  must  have  had  some  reason 
for  it,  or  you  would  not  have  cut  up  the  play  as  you  did.  If 
you  slash  for  the  sake  of  slashing  the  paper  will  get  into 
trouble,  and  when  there  is  good  reason  for  hitting  hard  it  will 
not  tell.     Did  the  manager  leave  you  out  in  the  cold  ? ' ' 

**He  had  not  kept  a  place  for  me." 

*•  Good,"  said  Lousteau.  *'  I  shall  let  him  see  your  article, 
and  tell  him  that  I  softened  it  down ;  you  will  find  it  serve 
you  better  than  if  it  had  appeared  in  print.  Go  and  ask  him 
for  tickets  to-morrow  and  he  will  sign  forty  blank  orders  every 
month.  I  know  a  man  who  can  get  rid  of  them  for  you ;  I 
will  introduce  you  to  him,  and  he  will  buy  them  all  up  at 
half-price.  There  is  a  trade  done  in  theatre  tickets,  just  as 
Barbet  trades  in  reviewers'  copies.  This  is  another  Barbet, 
the  leader  of  the  claque  (hired  applauders).  He  lives  near-by; 
come  and  see  him,  there  is  time  enough." 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,  it  is  a  scandalous  thing  that  Finot 
should  levy  blackmail  in  matters  intellectual.  Sooner  or 
later " 

"Really  I  "  cried  Lousteau,  "where  do  you  come  from? 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  259 

•• 

For  what  do  you  take  Finot  ?  Beneath  his  pretense  of  good- 
nature, his  ignorance  and  stupidity,  and  those  Turcaret's  airs 
of  his,  there  is  all  the  cunning  of  his  father  the  hatter.  Did 
you  notice  an  old  soldier  of  the  empire  in  the  den  at  the  office  ? 
That  is  Finot's  uncle.  The  uncle  is  not  only  one  of  the  right 
sort,  he  has  the  luck  to  be  taken  for  a  fool;  and  he  takes 
all  that  kind  of  business  upon  his  shoulders.  An  ambitious 
man  in  Paris  is  well  off  indeed  if  he  has  a  willing  scapegoat 
at  hand.  In  public  life,  as  in  journalism,  there  are  hosts  of 
emergencies  in  which  the  chiefs  cannot  afford  to  appear.  If 
Finot  should  enter  on  a  political  career,  his  uncle  would  be 
his  secretary,  and  receive  all  the  contributions  levied  in  his 
department  on  big  affairs.  Anybody  would  take  Giroudeau 
for  a  fool  at  first  sight,  but  he  has  just  enough  shrewdness  to 
be  an  inscrutable  old  file.  He  is  on  picket  duty ;  he  sees 
that  we  are  not  pestered  with  hubbub,  beginners  wanting  a 
job,  or  advertisements.  No  other  paper  has  his  equal,  I 
think." 

"He  plays  his  part  well,"  said  Lucien;  **I  saw  him  at 
work." 

Etienne  and  Lucien  reached  a  handsome  house  in  the  Rue 
du  Faubourg-du-Temple. 

"  Is  Monsieur  Braulard  in?  "  Etienne  asked  of  the  porter. 

" Monsieur ?^^  said  Lucien.  "Then  is  the  leader  of  the 
claque  '  Monsieur  ?  '  " 

"  My  dear  boy,  Braulard  has  twenty  thousand  francs  of  in- 
come. All  the  dramatic  authors  of  the  boulevards  are  in  his 
clutches,  and  have  a  standing  account  with  him  as  if  he  were 
a  banker.  Orders  and  complimentary  tickets  are  sold  here. 
Braulard  knows  where  to  get  rid  of  such  merchandise.  Now 
for  a  turn  at  statistics,  a  useful  science  enough  in  its  way.  At 
the  rate  of  fifty  complimentary  tickets  every  evening  for  each 
theatre,  you  have  two  hundred  and  fifty  tickets  daily.  Sup- 
pose, taking  one  with  another,  that  they  are  worth  a  couple  of 
francs  apiece,  Braulard  pays  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  francs 


260  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

daily  for  them,  and  takes  his  chance  of  making  cent,  per  cent. 
In  this  way  author's  tickets  alone  bring  him  in  about  four 
thousand  francs  every  month,  or  forty-eight  thousand  francs 
per  annum.  Allow  twenty  thousand  francs  for  loss,  for  he 
cannot  always  place  all  his  tickets " 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh!  the  people  who  pay  at  the  door  go  in  with  the 
holders  of  complimentary  tickets  for  unreserved  seats,  and  the 
theatres  reserve  the  right  of  admitting  those  who  pay.  There 
are  fine  warm  evenings  to  be  reckoned  with  beside,  and  poor 
plays.  Braulard  makes,  perhaps,  thirty  thousand  francs  every 
year  in  this  way,  and  he  has  his  claqueurs  beside,  another  in- 
dustry. Florine  and  Coralie  pay  tribute  to  him ;  if  they  did 
not  there  would  be  no  applause  when  they  come  on  or  go 
off." 

Lousteau  gave  this  explanation  in  a  low  voice  as  they  went 
up  the  stair. 

"Paris  is  a  queer  place,"  said  Lucien  ;  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  saw  self-interest  squatting  in  every  corner  of  that  great 
city. 

A  smart  maidservant  opened  the  door.  At  the  sight  of 
Etienne  Lousteau,  the  dealer  in  orders  and  tickets  rose  from  a 
study  chair  before  a  large  cylinder  desk,  and  Lucien  beheld 
the  leader  of  the  claque,  Braulard  himself,  dressed  in  a  gray 
molleton  jacket,  footed  trousers,  and  red  slippers ;  for  all  the 
world  like  a  doctor  or  an  attorney.  He  was  a  typical  self-made 
man,  Lucien  thought — a  vulgar-looking  face  with  a  pair  of 
exceedingly  cunning  gray  eyes,  hands  made  for  hired  applause, 
a  complexion  over  which  hard  living  had  passed  like  rain  over 
a  roof,  grizzled  hair,  and  a  somewhat  husky  voice. 

"  You  have  come  from  Mademoiselle  Florine,  no  doubt, 
sir,  and  this  gentleman  for  Mademoiselle  Coralie,"  said 
Braulard  ;  "  I  know  you  very  well  by  sight.  Don't  you  trouble 
yourself,  sir,"  he  continued,  addressing  Lucien;  "I  am  buy- 
ing the  Gymnase  connection,  I  will  look  after  your  lady,  and 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  261 

I  will  give  her  notice  of  any  tricks  that  they  may  try  to  play 
on  her." 

**  That  is  not  an  offer  to  be  refused,  my  dear  Braulard, 
but  we  have  come  about  the  press  orders  for  the  boulevard 
theatres — I  as  editor  and  this  gentleman  as  dramatic  critic." 

'*  Oh  !  ah,  yes !  Finot  has  sold  his  paper.  I  heard  about 
it.  He  is  getting  on,  is  Finot.  I  have  asked  him  to  dine 
with  me  at  the  end  of  the  week ;  if  you  will  do  me  the  honor 
and  pleasure  of  coming,  you  may  bring  your  ladies,  and  there 
will  be  a  grand  jollification.  Adele  Dupuis  is  coming,  and 
Ducange,  and  Frederic  du  Petit-Mere,  and  Mademoiselle 
Millot,  my  mistress.  We  shall  have  good  fun  and  better 
liquor." 

"  Ducange  must  be  in  difficulties.     He  has  lost  his  lawsuit." 

"  I  have  lent  him  ten  thousand  francs ;  if  '  Galas  '  succeeds, 
it  will  repay  the  loan,  so  I  have  been  organizing  a  success. 
Ducange  is  a  clever  man ;  he  has  brains " 

Lucien  fancied  that  he  must  be  dreaming  when  he  heard  a 
claqueur  appraising  a  writer's  value. 

"Coralie  has  improved,"  continued  Braulard,  with  the  air 
of  a  competent  critic.  "  If  she  is  a  good  girl,  I  will  take  her 
part,  for  they  have  got  up  a  cabal  against  her  at  the  Gymnase. 
This  is  how  I  mean  to  do  it :  I  will  have  a  few  well-dressed 
men  in  the  balconies  to  smile  and  make  little  murmurs,  and 
the  applause  will  follow.  That  is  a  dodge  which  makes  a 
position  for  an  actress.  I  have  a  liking  for  Goralie,  and  you 
ought  to  be  satisfied,  for  she  has  feeling.  Aha  !  I  can  hiss 
any  one  on  the  stage  if  I  like." 

"But  let  us  settle  this  business  about  the  tickets,"  put  in 
Lousteau. 

"Very  well,  I  will  come  to  this  gentleman's  lodging  for 
them  at  the  beginning  of  the  month.  He  is  a  friend  of 
yours,  and  I  will  treat  him  as  I  do  you.  You  have  five 
theatres ;  you  will  get  thirty  tickets — that  will  be  something 
like  seventy-five  francs  a  month.     Perhaps  you  will  be  want- 


262  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

ing  an  advance?"  added  Braulard,  lifting  a  cash-box  full  of 
coin  out  of  his  desk. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Lousteau;  **  we  will  keep  that  shift  against 
a  rainy  day." 

"  I  will  work  with  Coralie,  sir,  and  we  will  come  to  an 
understanding,"  said  Braulard,  addressing  Lucien,  who  was 
looking  about  him,  not  without  profound  astonishment. 
There  was  a  bookcase  in  Braulard's  study,  there  were  framed 
engravings  and  good  furniture  ;  and,  as  they  passed  through 
the  drawing-room,  he  noticed  that  the  fittings  were  neither 
too  luxurious  nor  yet  mean.  The  dining-room  seemed  to  be 
the  best-ordered  room,  he  remarked  on  this  jokingly. 

**  But  Braulard  is  an  epicure,"  said  Lousteau;  "  his  dinners 
are  famous  in  dramatic  literature,  and  they  are  what  you 
might  expect  from  his  cash-box." 

"I  have  good  wine,"  Braulard  replied  modestly.  "Ah! 
here  are  my  lamplighters,"  he  added,  as  a  sound  of  hoarse 
voices  and  strange  footsteps  came  up  from  the  staircase. 

Lucien  on  his  way  down  saw  a  march  past  of  claqueurs  and 
retailers  of  tickets.  It  was  an  ill-smelling  squad,  attired  in 
caps,  seedy  trousers,  and  threadbare  overcoats ;  a  flock  of 
gallows-birds  with  bluish  and  greenish  tints  in  their  faces, 
neglected  beards,  and  a  strange  mixture  of  savagery  and  sub- 
servience in  their  eyes.  A  horrible  population  lives  and 
swarms  upon  the  Paris  boulevards ;  selling  watch-guards  and 
brass  jewelry  in  the  streets  by  day,  applauding  under  the 
chandeliers  of  the  theatre  at  night,  and  ready  to  lend  them- 
selves to  any  dirty  business  in  the  great  city. 

"Behold  the  Romans  !  "  laughed  Lousteau  ;  "behold  fame 
incarnate  for  actresses  and  dramatic  authors.  It  is  no  prettier 
than  our  own  when  you  come  to  look  at  it  closely." 

"It  is  difficult  to  keep  illusions  on  any  subject  in  Paris," 
answered  Lucien  as  they  turned  in  at  his  door.  "There  is 
a  tax  upon  everything — everything  has  its  price,  and  any- 
thing can  be  made  to  order — even  success." 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  263 

Thirty  guests  were  assembled  that  evening  in  Coralie's 
rooms ;  her  dining-room  would  not  hold  more.  Lucien  had 
asked  Dauriat  and  the  manager  of  the  Panoroma-Dramatique, 
Matifat  and  Florine,  Camusot,  Lousteau,  Finot,  Nathan, 
Hector  Merlin  and  Mme.  du  Val-Noble,  Felicien  Vernou, 
Blondet,  Vignon,  Philippe  Bridau,  Mariette,  Giroudeau, 
Cardot  and  Florentine,  and  Bixiou,  He  had  also  asked  all 
his  friends  of  the  Rue  des  Quatre- Vents.  Tullia  the  dancer, 
who  was  not  unkind,  said  gossip,  to  du  Bruel,  had  come 
without  her  duke.  The  proprietors  of  the  newspapers,  for 
whom  most  of  the  journalists  wrote,  were  also  of  the  party. 

At  eight  o'clock,  when  the  lights  of  the  candles  in  the 
chandeliers  shone  over  the  furniture,  the  hangings,  and  the 
flowers,  the  rooms  wore  the  festal  air  that  gives  to  Parisian 
luxury  the  appearance  of  a  dream ;  and  Lucien  felt  inde- 
finable stirrings  of  hope  and  gratified  vanity  and  pleasure 
at  the  thought  that  he  was  the  master  of  the  house.  But 
how  and  by  whom  the  magic  wand  had  been  waved  he  no 
longer  sought  to  remember.  Florine  and  Coralie,  dressed 
with  the  fanciful  extravagance  and  magnificent  artistic  effect 
of  the  stage,  smiled  on  the  poet  like  two  fairies  at  the 
gates  of  the  Palace  of  Dreams.  And  Lucien  was  almost  in 
a  dream. 

His  life  had  been  changed  so  suddenly  during  the  last 
few  months;  he  had  gone  so  swiftly  from  the  depths  of 
penury  to  the  last  extreme  of  luxury,  that  at  moments  he 
felt  as  uncomfortable  as  a  dreaming  man  who  knows  that 
he  is  asleep.  And  yet  he  looked  around  at  the  fair  reality 
about  him  with  a  confidence  to  which  envious  minds  might 
have  given  the  name  of  fatuity. 

Lucien  himself  had  changed.  He  had  grown  paler  during 
these  days  of  continual  enjoyment ;  languor  had  lent  a  hu- 
mid look  to  his  eyes ;  in  short,  to  use  Madame  d'Espard's 
expression,  he  looked  like  a  man  who  is  loved.  He  was 
the  handsomer  for  it.     Consciousness  of  his  powers  and  his 


264  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

Strength  was  visible  in  his  face,  enlightened  as  it  was  by 
love  and  experience.  Looking  out  over  the  world  of  letters 
and  of  men,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  might  go  to  and  fro 
as  lord  of  it  all.  Sober  reflection  never  entered  his  romantic 
head  unless  it  was  driven  in  by  the  pressure  of  adversity, 
and  just  now  the  present  held  not  a  care  for  him.  The 
breath  of  praise  swelled  the  sails  of  his  skiff;  all  the  in- 
struments of  success  lay  there  to  his  hand;  he  had  an 
establishment,  a  mistress  whom  all  Paris  envied  him,  a 
carriage,  and  untold  wealth  in  his  inkstand.  Heart  and 
soul  and  brain  were  alike  transformed  within  him;  why 
should  he  care  to  be  overnice  about  the  means,  when  the 
great  results  were  visible  there  before  his  eyes. 

As  such  a  style  of  living  will  seem,  and  with  good  reason, 
to  be  anything  but  secure  to  economists  who  have  any 
experience  of  Paris,  it  will  not  be  superfluous  to  give  a 
glance  to  the  foundation,  uncertain  as  it  was,  upon  which 
the  prosperity  of  the  pair  was  based. 

Camusot  had  given  Coralie's  tradesmen  instructions  to 
grant  her  credit  for  three  months  at  least,  and  this  had 
been  done  without  her  knowledge.  During  those  three 
months,  therefore,  horses  and  servants,  like  everything  else, 
waited  as  if  by  enchantment  at  the  bidding  of  two  chil- 
dren, eager  for  enjoyment,  and  enjoying  to  their  hearts' 
content. 

Coralie  had  taken  Lucien's  hand  and  given  him  a  glimpse 
of  the  transformation  scene  in  the  dining-room,  of  the  splen- 
didly appointed  table,  of"  chandeliers,  each  fitted  with  forty 
wax-lights,  of  the  royally  luxurious  dessert,  and  a  menu  of 

Chevet's.     Lucien  kissed  her  on  the  forehead  and  held  her 
r 

closely  to  his  heart. 

"I  shall  succeed,  child,"  he  said,  "and  then  I  will  repay 

you  for  such  tove  and  devotion." 

**  Pshaw  !  "  said  Coralie.     "  Are  you  satisfied?" 
"  I  should  be  very  hard  to  please  if  I  was  not." 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  265 

"Very  well,  then,  that  smile  of  yours  pays  for  everything," 
she  said,  and  with  a  serpentine  movement  she  raised  her 
head  and  laid  her  lips  against  his. 

When  they  went  back  to  the  others,  Florine,  Lousteau, 
Matifat,  and  Camusot  were  setting  out  the  card-tables.  Lu- 
cien's  friends  began  to  arrive,  for  already  these  folk  began  to 
call  themselves  **Lucien*s  friends;  "  and  they  sat  over  the 
cards  from  nine  o'clock  till  midnight.  Lucien  was  unac- 
quainted with  a  single  game,  but  Lousteau  lost  a  thousand 
francs,  and  Lucien  could  not  refuse  to  lend  him  the  money 
when  he  asked  for  it. 

Michel,  Fulgence,  and  Joseph  appeared  about  ten  o'clock; 
and  Lucien,  chatting  with  them  in  a  corner,  saw  that  they 
looked  sober  and  serious  enough,  not  to  say  ill  at  ease. 
D' Arthez  could  not  come,  he  was  finishing  his  book ;  Leon 
Giraud  was  busy  with  the  first  number  of  his  review  ;  so  the 
brotherhood  had  sent  the  three  artists  among  their  number, 
thinking  that  they  would  feel  less  out  of  their  element  in  an 
uproarious  supper-party  than  the  rest. 

"  Well,  my  dear  fellows,"  said  Lucien,  assuming  a  slightly 
patronizing  tone,  "  the  '  comical  fellow  '  may  become  a  great 
public  character  yet,  you  see." 

"  I  wish  I  may  be  mistaken  ;  I  don't  ask  better,"  said 
Michel. 

"  Are  you  living  with  Coralie  until  you  can  do  better?" 
asked  Fulgence. 

"Yes,"  said  Lucien,  trying  to  look  unconscious.  "Cora- 
lie  had  an  elderly  adorer,  a  merchant,  and  she  showed  him  the 
door,  poor  fellow.  I  am  better  off  than  your  brother  Phil- 
ippe," he  added,  addressing  Joseph  Bridau ;  "he  does  not 
know  how  to  manage  Mariette." 

"You  are  a  man  like  another  now;  in  short,  you  will  make 
your  way,"  said  Fulgence. 

"  A  man  that  will  always  be  the  same  for  you,  under  all 
circumstances,"  returned  Lucien. 


266  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

Michel  and  Fulgence  exchanged  incredulous,  scornful  smiles 
at  this.     Lucien  saw  the  absurdity  of  his  remark. 

"  Coralie  is  wonderfully  beautiful,"  exclaimed  Joseph  Bridau. 
*'  What  a  magnificent  portrait  she  would  make  !  " 

"Beautiful  and  good,"  said  Lucien;  **she  is  an  angel, 
upon  my  word.  And  you  shall  paint  her  portrait ;  she  shall 
sit  to  you  if  you  like  for  your  Venetian  lady  brought  by  the 
old  woman  to  the  senator." 

"All  women  who  love  are  angelic,"  said  Michel  Chrestien. 

Just  at  that  moment  Raoul  Nathan  flew  upon  Lucien,  and 
grasped  both  his  hands  and  shook  them  in  a  sudden  access  of 
violent  friendship. 

"  Oh,  my  good  friend,  you  are  something  more  than  a  great 
man,  you  have  a  heart,"  he  cried,  "a  much  rarer  thing  than 
genius  in  these  days.  You  are  a  devoted  friend.  I  am  yours, 
in  short,  through  thick  and  thin  ;  I  shall  never  forget  all  that 
you  have  done  for  me  this  week." 

Lucien' s  joy  had  reached  the  highest  point ;  to  be  thus 
caressed  by  a  man  of  whom  every  one  was  talking  !  He 
looked  at  his  three  friends  of  the  brotherhood  with  something 
like  a  superior  air.  Nathan's  appearance  upon  the  scene  was 
the  result  of  an  overture  from  Merlin,  who  sent  him  a  proof 
of  the  favorable  review  to  appear  in  to-morrow's  issue. 

**  I  only  consented  to  write  the  attack  on  condition  that  I 
should  be  allowed  to  reply  to  it  myself,"  Lucien  said  in 
Nathan's  ear.  "  I  am  one  of  you."  This  incident  was  op- 
portune ;  it  justified  the  remark  which  amused  Fulgence. 
Lucien  was  radiant. 

"When  d'Arthez's  book  comes  out,"  he  said,  turning  to 
the  three,  "I  am  in  a  position  to  be  useful  to  him.  That 
thought  in  itself  would  induce  me  to  remain  a  journalist." 

**  Can  you  do  as  you  like  ?  "  Michel  asked  quickly. 

"  So  far  as  one  can  when  one  is  indispensable,"  said  Lucien 
modestly.  ^ 

It  was  almost  midnight  when  they  sat  down  to  supper,  and 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  2fff 

the  fun  grew  fast  and  furious.  Talk  was  less  restrained  in 
Lucien's  house  than  at  Matifat's,  for  no  one  suspected  that 
the  representatives  of  the  brotherhood  and  the  newspaper 
writers  held  divergent  opinions.  Young  intellects,  depraved 
by  arguing  for  either  side,  now  came  into  conflict  with  each 
other,  and  fearful  axioms  of  the  journalistic  jurisprudence, 
then  in  its  infancy,  hurtled  to  and  fro.  Claud  Vignon,  up- 
holding the  dignity  of  criticism,  inveighed  against  the  ten- 
dency of  the  smaller  newspapers,  saying  that  the  writers  of 
personalities  lowered  themselves  in  the  end.  Lousteau,  Mer- 
lin, and  Finot  took  up  the  cudgels  for  the  system  known  by 
the  name  of  blague ;  puffery,  gossip,  and  humbug,  they  said, 
was  the  test  of  talent,  and  set  the  hall-mark,  as  it  were,  upon 
it.  **  Any  man  who  can  stand  that  test  has  real  power,"  said 
Lousteau. 

**  Beside,"  cried  Merlin,  "when  a  great  man  receives  ova- 
tions, there  ought  to  be  a  chorus  of  insults  to  balance,  as  in  a 
Roman  triumph." 

"Oho!"  put  in  Lucien ;  "then  every  one  held  up  to 
ridicule  in  print  will  fancy  that  he  has  made  a  success." 

"Any  one  would  think  that  the  question  interested  you," 
exclaimed  Finot. 

"And  how  about  our  sonnets,"  said  Michel  Chrestien ; 
"  is  that  the  way  they  will  win  us  the  fame  of  a  second  Pe- 
trarch?" 

"Laura  already  counts  for  something  in  his  fame,"  said 
Dauriat,  a  pun  [Laure  ij^ or)  gold]  received  with  acclamations. 

"Faciamus  experimentum  in  anima  vili,^^  retorted  Lucien 
with  a  smile. 

"And  woe  unto  him  whom  reviewers  shall  spare,  flinging 
him  crowns  at  his  first  appearance,  for  he  shall  be  shelved 
like  the  saints  in  their  shrines  and  no  man  shall  pay  him  the 
slightest  attention,"  said  Vernou. 

"  People  will  say,  *  Look  elsewhere,  simpleton  ;  you  have 
had  your  due  already,'  as  Champcenetz  said  to  the  Marquis 


268  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

de  Genlis,  who  was  looking  too  fondly  at  his  wife,"  added 
Blondet. 

**  Success  is  the  ruin  of  a  man  in  France,"  said  Finot. 
**  We  are  so  jealous  of  one  another  that  we  try  to  forget,  and 
to  make  others  forget,  the  triumphs  of  yesterday. " 

"  Contradiction  is  the  life  of  literature,  in  fact,"  said  Claud 
Vignon. 

*'  In  art  as  in  nature,  there  are  two  principles  everywhere  at 
strife,"  said  Fulgence  ;  **  victory  for  either  means  death." 

**  So  it  is  with  politics,"  added  Michel  Chrestien. 

**  We  have  a  case  in  point,"  said  Lousteau.  "  Dauriat  will 
sell  a  couple  of  thousand  copies  of  Nathan's  book  in  the  com- 
ing week.  And  why?  Because  the  book  that  was  cleverly 
attacked  will  be  ably  defended." 

Merlin  took  up  the  proof  of  to-morrow's  paper.  "  How 
can  such  an  article  fail  to  sell  an  edition  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Read  the  article,"  said  Dauriat.  "I  am  a  publisher 
wherever  I  am,  even  at  supper." 

Merlin  read  Lucien's  triumphant  refutation  aloud  and  the 
whole  party  applauded. 

**  How  could  that  article  have  been  written  unless  the  attack 
had  preceded  it  ?  "  asked  Lousteau. 

Dauriat  drew  the  proof  of  the  third  article  from  his  pocket 
and  read  it  over,  Finot  listening  closely ;  for  it  was  to  appear 
in  the  second  number  of  his  own  review,  and  as  editor  he 
exaggerated  his  enthusiasm. 

*'  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  **  so  and  not  otherwise  would  Bos- 
suet  have  written  if  he  had  lived  in  our  day." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Merlin.  **  Bossuet  would  have 
been  a  journalist  to-day." 

"To  Bossuet  the  Second  !  "  cried  Claud  Vignon,  raising 
his  glass  with  an  ironical  bow. 

**  To  my  Christopher  Columbus  !  "  returned  Lucien,  drink- 
ing a  health  to  Dauriat. 

"Bravo!  "  cried  Nathan. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  269 

**Is  it  a  nickname?"  Merlin  inquired,  looking  maliciously 
from  Finot  to  Lucien. 

"If  you  go  on  at  this  pace,  you  will  be  quite  beyond  us," 
said  Dauriatj  "these  gentlemen"  (indicating  Camusot  and 
Matifat)  "  cannot  follow  you  as  it  is.  A  joke  is  like  a  bit  of 
thread ;  if  it  is  spun  too  fine,  it  breaks,  as  the  great  Bonaparte 
said." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Lousteau,  "  we  have  been  eye-witnesses 
of  a  strange,  portentous,  unheard-of,  and  truly  surprising 
phenomenon.  Admire  the  rapidity  with  which  our  friend  here 
has  been  transformed  from  a  provincial  into  a  journalist  of 
Paris  !  " 

"  He  is  a  born  journalist,"  said  Dauriat. 

"  Children  !  "  called  Finot,  rising  to  his  feet,  "all  of  us 
here  present  have  encouraged  and  protected  our  amphitryon 
in  his  entrance  upon  a  career  in  which  he  has  already  sur- 
passed our  hopes.  In  two  months  he  has  shown  us  what  he 
can  do  in  a  series  of  excellent  articles  known  to  us  all.  I 
propose  to  baptize  him  in  form  as  a  journalist." 

"A  crown  of  roses  !  to  signalize  a  double  conquest,"  cried 
Bixiou,  glancing  at  Coralie. 

Coralie  made  a  sign  to  Berenice.  That  portly  handmaid 
went  to  Coralie's  dressing-room  and  brought  back  a  box  of 
tumbled  artificial  flowers.  The  more  incapable  members  of 
the  party  were  grotesquely  tricked  out  in  these  blossoms,  and 
a  crown  of  roses  was  soon  woven.  Finot,  as  high-priest, 
sprinkled  a  few  drops  of  champagne  on  Lucien's  golden  curls, 
pronouncing  with  delicious  gravity  the  words — "  In  the  name 
of  the  Government  Stamp,  the  Caution-money,  and  the  Fine, 
I  baptize  thee.  Journalist.  May  thy  articles  sit  lightly  on 
thee!" 

"  And  may  they  be  paid  for,  including  white  lines  !  "  cried 
Merlin. 

Just  at  that  moment  Lucien  caught  sight  of  three  melan- 
choly faces.     Michel  Chrestien,  Joseph  Bridau,  and  Fulgence 


270  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

Ridal  took  up  their  hats  and  went  out  amid  a  storm  of  in- 
vective. 

**  Queer  customers !  "  said  Merlin. 

"Fulgence  used  to  be  a  good  fellow,"  added  Lousteau, 
"before  they  perverted  his  morals." 

*'  Who  are  *  they?  *  "  asked  Claud  Vignon. 

"  Some  very  serious  young  men,"  said  Blondet,  "who  meet 
at  a  philosophico-religious  symposium  in  the  Rue  des  Quatre- 
Vents,  and  worry  themselves  about  the  meaning  of  human 
life " 

"Oh!  oh!" 

**  They  are  trying  to  find  out  whether  it  goes  round  in  a 
circle  or  makes  some  progress,"  continued  Blondet.  "They 
were  very  hard  put  to  it  between  the  straight  line  and  the 
curve ;  the  triangle,  warranted  by  scripture,  seemed  to  them 
to  be  nonsense,  when,  lo  !  there  arose  among  them  some 
prophet  or  other  who  declared  for  the  spiral." 

"  Men  might  meet  to  invent  more  dangerous  nonsense  than 
that!  "  exclaimed  Lucien,  making  a  faint  attempt  to  cham- 
pion the  brotherhood. 

"You  take  theories  of  that  sort  for  idle  words,"  said 
F61icien  Vernou;  "but  a  time  comes  when  the  arguments 
take  the  form  of  gunshot  and  the  guillotine." 

"They  have  not  come  to  that  yet,"  said  Bixiou;  "they 
have  only  come  as  far  as  the  designs  of  Providence  in  the 
invention  of  champagne,  the  humanitarian  significance  of 
breeches,  and  the  blind  deity  who  keeps  the  world  going. 
They  pick  up  fallen  great  men  like  Vico,  Saint-Simon,  and 
Fourier.  I  am  much  afraid  that  they  will  turn  poor  Joseph 
Bridau's  head  among  them." 

"  Bianchon,  my  old  school-fellow,  gives  me  the  cold  shoul- 
der now,"  said  Etienne  Lousteau;  "it  is  all  their  doing 
and " 

"  Do  they  give  lectures  on  orthopedy  and  intellectual 
gymnastics?  "  asked  Merlin. 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  FA  HIS.  271 

"Very  likely,"  answered  Finot,  "if  Bianchon  has  any  hand 
in  their  theories." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Lousteau;  "he  will  be  a  great  physician 
anyhow." 

"Isn't  d'Arthez  their  visible  head?"  asked  Nathan;  "a 
little  youngster  that  is  going  to  swallow  all  of  us  up." 

"  He  is  a  genius  !  "  cried  Lucien. 

"  Genius,  is  he  !  Well,  give  me  a  glass  of  sherry  !  "  said 
Claud  Vignon,  smiling. 

Every  one  thereupon  began  to  explain  his  character  for  the 
benefit  of  his  neighbor ;  and  when  a  clever  man  feels  a  press- 
ing need  of  explaining  himself,  and  of  unlocking  his  heart, 
it  is  pretty  clear  that  wine  has  gotten  the  upper  hand.  An 
hour  later,  all  the  men  in  the  company  were  the  best  friends 
in  the  world,  addressing  each  other  as  great  men  and  bold 
spirits  who  held  the  future  in  their  hands.  Lucien,  in  his 
quality  of  host,  was  sufficiently  clear-headed  to  apprehend  the 
meaning  of  the  sophistries  which  impressed  him  and  com- 
pleted his  demoralization. 

"The  Liberal  party,"  announced  Finot,  "  is  compelled  to 
stir  up  discussion  somehow.  There  is  no  fault  to  find  with 
the  action  of  the  government,  and  you  may  imagine  what  a 
fix  the  opposition  is  in.  Which  of  you  now  cares  to  write  a 
pamphlet  in  favor  of  the  system  of  primogeniture,  and  raise  a 
cry  against  the  secret  designs  of  the  court  ?  The  pamphlet 
will  be  paid  for  handsomely. ' ' 

"I  will  write  it,"  said  Hector  Merlin.  "It  is  my  own 
point  of  view." 

"Your  party  will  complain  that  you  are  compromising 
them,"  said  Finot.  "Fdicien,  you  must  undertake  it ;  Dau- 
riat  will  bring  it  out  and  we  will  keep  the  secret." 

"  How  much  shall  I  get  ?  " 

"  Six  hundred  francs.  Sign  it  *  Le  Comte  C,  three  stars,*  " 
Finot  replied. 

"  It's  a  bargain,"  said  F61icien  Vernou. 


272  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

*'  So  you  are  introducing  the  canard  to  the  political  world," 
remarked  Lousteau. 

"It  is  simply  the  Chabot  affair  carried  into  the  region  of 
abstract  ideas,"  said  Finot.  "Fasten  intentions  on  the  gov- 
ernment, and  then  let  loose  public  opinion." 

'*  How  a  government  can  leave  the  control  of  ideas  to  such 
a  pack  of  scamps  as  we  are  is  matter  for  perpetual  and  pro- 
found astonishment  to  me,"  said  Claud  Vignon. 

"  If  the  ministry  blunders  so  far  as  to  come  down  into  the 
arena,  we  can  give  them  a  drubbing.  If  they  are  nettled  by 
it,  the  thing  will  rankle  in  people's  minds,  and  the  govern- 
ment will  lose  its  hold  on  the  masses.  The  newspaper  risks 
nothing,  and  the  authorities  have  everything  to  lose." 

**  France  will  be  a  cipher  until  newspapers  are  abolished 
by  law,"  said  Claud  Vignon.  "You  are  making  progress 
hourly,"  he  added,  addressing  Finot.  "You  are  a  modern 
order  of  Jesuits,  lacking  the  creed,  the  fixed  idea,  the  dis- 
cipline, and  the  union." 

They  went  back  to  the  card-tables ;  and  before  long  the 
light  of  the  candles  grew  feeble  in  the  dawn. 

"Lucien,  your  friends  from  the  Rue  des  Quatre-Vents 
looked  as  dismal  as  criminals  going  to  be  hanged,"  said 
Coralie. 

"They  were  the  judges,  not  the  criminals,"  replied  her 
poet. 

"Judges  are  more  amusing  than  that,^^  said  Mademoiselle 
Coralie. 

For  a  month  Lucien's  whole  time  was  taken  up  with  supper 
parties,  dinner  engagements,  breakfasts,  and  evening  parties ; 
he  was  swept  away  by  an  irresistible  current  into  the  vortex 
of  dissipation  and  easy  work.  He  no  longer  thought  of  the 
future.  The  power  of  calculation  amid  the  complications  of 
life  is  the  sign  of  a  strong  will  which  poets,  weaklings,  and 
men  who  live  a  purely  intellectual  life  can  never  counterfeit. 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  273 

Lucien  was  living  from  hand  to  mouth,  spending  his  money 
as  fast  as  he  made  it,  like  many  another  journalist ;  nor  did 
he  give  so  much  as  a  thought  to  those  periodically  recurrent 
days  of  reckoning  which  checker  the  life  of  the  boheraian  in 
Paris  so  sadly. 

In  dress  and  figure  he  was  a  rival  for  the  great  dandies  of 
the  day,  Coralie,  like  all  zealots,  loved  to  adorn  her  idol. 
She  ruined  herself  to  give  her  beloved  poet  the  accoutrements 
which  had  so  stirred  his  envy  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries. 
Lucien  had  wonderful  canes  and  a  charming  eyeglass ;  he 
had  diamond  studs,  and  scarf-rings,  and  signet-rings,  beside 
an  assortment  of  waistcoats  marvelous  to  behold,  and  in  suf- 
ficient number  to  match  every  color  in  a  variety  of  costumes. 
His  transition  to  the  estate  of  dandy  swiftly  followed.  When 
he  went  to  the  German  minister's  dinner,  all  the  young  men 
regarded  him  with  suppressed  envy ;  yet  de  Marsay,  Vande- 
nesse,  Ajuda-Pinto,  Maxirae  de  Trailles,  Rastignac,  Beaude- 
nord,  Manerville,  and  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse  gave  place 
to  none  in  the  kingdom  of  fashion.  Men  of  fashion  are  as 
jealous  among  themselves  as  women,  and  in  the  same  way. 
Lucien  was  placed  between  Mme.  de  Montcornet  and  Mme. 
d'Espard,  in  whose  honor  the  dinner  was  given  ;  both  ladies 
overwhelmed  him  with  flatteries. 

"  Why  did  you  turn  your  back  on  society  when  you  would 
have  been  so  well  received  ?  "  asked  the  Marquise.  "  Every 
one  was  prepared  to  make  much  of  you.  And  I  have  a  quarrel 
with  you  too.  You  owed  me  a  call — I  am  still  waiting  to 
receive  it.  I  saw  you  at  the  opera  the  other  day,  and  you 
would  not  deign  to  come  to  see  me  nor  to  take  any  notice  of 
me." 

**  Your  cousin,  madame,  so  unmistakably  dismissed  me " 

"  Oh  !  you  do  not  know  women,"  the  Marquise  d'Espard 

broke  in  upon  him.     "You  have  wounded  the  most  angelic 

heart,  the  noblest  nature  that  I  know.     You  do  not  know  all 

that  Louise  was  trying  to  do  for  you,  nor  how  tactfully  she 

18 


274  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

laid  her  plans  for  you.  Oh  !  and  she  would  have  succeeded," 
the  Marquise  continued,  replying  to  Lucien's  mute  incredulity. 
"  Her  husband  is  now  dead ;  died,  as  he  was  bound  to  die, 
of  an  indigestion ;  could  you  doubt  that  she  would  be  free 
sooner  or  later  ?  And  can  you  suppose  that  she  would  like 
to  be  Madame  Chardon  ?  It  was  worth  while  to  take  some 
trouble  to  gain  the  title  of  Comtesse  de  Rubempre.  Love, 
you  see,  is  a  great  vanity,  which  requires  the  lesser  vanities  to 
be  in  harmony  with  itself — especially  in  marriage.  I  might 
love  you  to  madness — which  is  to  say,  sufficiently  to  marry 
you — and  yet  I  should  find  it  very  unpleasant  to  be  called 
Madame  Chardon.  You  can  see  that.  And  now  that  you 
understand  the  difficulties  of  Paris  life,  you  will  know  how 
many  roundabout  ways  you  must  take  to  reach  your  end ; 
very  well,  then,  you  must  admit  that  Louise  was  aspiring  to 
an  all  but  impossible  piece  of  court  favor ;  she  was  quite  un- 
known, she  is  not  rich,  and  therefore  she  could  not  afford  to 
neglect  any  means  of  success. 

"Tou  are  clever,"  the  Marquise  d'Espard  continued;  "but 
we  women,  when  we  love,  are  cleverer  than  the  cleverest  man. 

My  cousin   tried  to  make   that   absurd  Chatelet  useful 

Oh! "  she  broke  off,  "  I  owe  not  a  little  amusement  to  you  ; 
your  articles  on  Chatelet  made  me  laugh  heartily." 

Lucien  knew  not  what  to  think  of  all  this.  Of  the  treachery 
and  bad  faith  of  journalism  he  had  had  some  experience  ;  but, 
in  spite  of  his  perspicacity,  he  scarcely  expected  to  find  bad 
faith  or  treachery  in  society.  There  were  some  sharp  lessons 
in  store  for  him. 

**  But,  madame,"  he  objected,  for  her  words  aroused  a  lively 
curiosity,  "  is  not  the  heron  under  your  protection  ?  " 

**  One  is  obliged  to  be  civil  to  one's  worst  enemies  in  so- 
ciety," protested  she;  "one  may  be  bored,  but  one  must  look 
as  if  the  talk  was  amusing,  and  not  seldom  one  seems  to  sacri- 
fice friends  the  better  to  serve  them.  Are  you  still  a  novice  ? 
You  mean  to  write,  and  yet  you  know  nothing  of  current 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  275 

deceit?  My  cousin  apparently  sacrificed  you  to  the  heron, 
but  how  could  she  dispense  with  his  influence  for  you  ?  Our 
friend  stands  well  with  the  present  ministry;  and  we  have 
made  him  see  that  your  attacks  will  do  him  service — up  to 
a  certain  point,  for  we  want  you  to  make  it  up  again  some 
of  these  days.  Chatelet  has  received  compensations  for  his 
troubles ;  for,  as  des  Lupeaulx  said,  *  While  the  newspapers 
are  making  Chatelet  ridiculous,  they  will  leave  the  ministry 
in  peace.'  " 

There  was  a  pause ;  the  Marquise  left  Lucien  to  his  own 
reflections. 

"  Monsieur  Blondet  led  me  to  hope  that  I  should  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  my  house,"  said  the  Comtesse  de 
Montcornet.  "  You  will  meet  a  few  artists  and  men  of  letters, 
and  some  one  else  who  has  the  keenest  desire  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  you — Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  the  owner 
of  talents  rare  among  our  sex.  You  will  go  to  her  house, 
no  doubt.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  (or  Camille  Maupin, 
if  you  prefer  it)  is  prodigiously  rich,  and  presides  over  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  salons  in  Paris.  She  has  heard  that 
you  are  as  handsome  as  you  are  clever,  and  is  dying  to  meet 
you." 

Lucien  could  only  pour  out  incoherent  thanks  and  glance 
enviously  at  Emile  Blondet.  There  was  as  great  a  difference 
between  a  great  lady  like  Mme.  de  Montcornet  and  Coralie 
as  between  Coralie  and  a  girl  out  of  the  streets.  The 
Countess  was  young  and  witty  and  beautiful,  with  the  very 
white  fairness  of  women  of  the  North.  Her  mother  was  the 
Princess  Scherbellof,  and  the  minister  before  dinner  had  paid 
her  the  most  respectful  attention. 

By  this  time  the  Marquise  had  made  an  end  of  trifling  dis- 
dainfully with  the  wing  of  a  chicken. 

"  My  poor  Louise  felt  so  much  affection  for  you,"  she  said. 
**  She  took  me  into  her  confidence ;  I  knew  her  dreams  of  a 
great  career  for  you.     She  would  have  borne  a  great  deal,  but 


276  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

what  scorn  you  showed  her  when  you  sent  back  her  letters ! 
Cruelty  we  can  forgive  ;  those  who  hurt  us  must  still  have 
some  faith  in  us;  but  indifference  !  Indifference  is  like  polar 
snows.  It  extinguishes  all  life.  So,  you  must  see  that  you 
have  lost  a  precious  affection  through  your  own  fault.  Why 
break  with  her  ?  Even  if  she  had  scorned  you,  you  had  your 
way  to  make,  had  you  not  ? — your  name  to  win  back  ?  Louise 
thought  of  all  that." 

**  Then  why  was  she  silent  ?  " 

^'Eh/  mon  Dieu!^^  cried  the  Marquise,  "it  was  I  myself 
who  advised  her  not  to  take  you  into  her  confidence.  Between 
ourselves,  you  know,  you  seemed  so  little  used  to  the  ways  of 
the  world  that  I  took  alarm.  I  was  afraid  that  your  inex- 
perience and  rash  ardor  might  wreck  our  carefully  made 
schemes.  Can  you  recollect  yourself  as  you  were  then?  You 
must  admit  that  if  you  could  see  your  double  to-day,  you  would 
say  the  same  yourself.  You  are  not  like  the  same  man.  That 
was  our  one  mistake.  But  would  one  man  in  a  thousand  com- 
bine such  intellectual  gifts  with  such  a  wonderful  aptitude 
for  taking  the  tone  of  society  ?  I  did  not  think  that  you 
would  be  such  an  astonishing  exception.  You  were  trans- 
formed so  quickly,  you  acquired  the  manner  of  Paris  so  easily, 
that  I  did  not  recognize  you  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  a  month 
ago." 

Lucien  heard  the  great  lady  with  inexpressible  pleasure ;  the 
flatteries  were  spoken  with  such  a  petulant,  childlike,  con- 
fiding air,  and  she  seemed  to  take  such  a  deep  interest  in  him, 
that  he  thought  of  his  first  evening  at  the  Panorama-Dra- 
matique,  and  began  to  fancy  that  some  such  miracle  was  about 
to  take  place  a  second  time.  Everything  had  smiled  upon 
him  since  that  happy  evening  ;  his  youth,  he  thought,  was  the 
talisman  that  worked  this  change.  He  would  prove  this  great 
lady ;  she  should  not  take  him  at  unawares. 

**  Then,  what  were  these  schemes  which  have  turned  to 
chimeras,  madame?"  asked  he. 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  277 

"Louise  meant  to  obtain  a  royal  patent  permitting  you  to 
bear  the  name  and  title  of  Rubempre.  She  wished  to  put 
Chardon  out  of  sight.  Your  opinions  have  put  that  out  of 
the  question  now,  but  then  it  would  not  have  been  so  hard  to 
manage,  and  a  title  would  mean  a  fortune  for  you. 

"  You  will  look  on  these  things  as  trifles^  and  visionary 
ideas,"  she  continued;  "but  we  know  something  of  life, 
and  we  know,  too,  all  the  solid  advantages  of  a  count's  title 
when  it  is  borne  by  a  fashionable  and  extremely  charming 
young  man.  Announce  '  Monsieur  Chardon  '  and  '  Monsieur 
le  Comte  de  Rubempre  '  before  heiresses  or  English  girls  with 
a  million  to  their  fortune  and  note  the  difference  of  the  effect. 
The  Count  might  be  in  debt,  but  he  would  find  open  hearts ; 
his  good  looks,  brought  into  relief  by  his  title,  would  be  like 
a  diamond  in  a  rich  setting  ;  Monsieur  Chardon  would  not  be 
so  much  as  noticed.  We  have  not  invented  these  notions ; 
they  are  everywhere  in  the  world,  even  among  the  bourgeois. 
You  are  turning  your  back  on  fortune  at  this  minute.  Do 
you  see  that  good-looking  young  man,  he  is  the  Vicomte  Felix 
de  Vandenesse,  one  of  the  King's  private  secretaries.  The 
King  is  fond  enough  of  young  men  of  talent,  and  Vandenesse 
came  from  the  provinces  with  baggage  nearly  as  light  as  yours. 
You  are  a  thousand  times  cleverer  than  he ;  but  do  you  belong 
to  a  great  family,  have  you  a  name  ?  You  know  des  Lupeaulx; 
his  name  is  very  much  like  yours,  for  he  was  born  a  Chardin  ; 
well,  he  would  not  sell  his  little  farm  of  Lupeaulx  for  a  million, 
he  will  be  Comte  des  Lupeaulx  some  day,  and  perhaps  his 
grandson  may  be  a  duke.  You  have  made  a  false  start ;  and 
if  you  continue  in  that  way  it  will  be  all  over  with  you.  See 
how  much  wiser  Monsieur  Emile  Blondet  has  been  !  He  is 
engaged  on  a  government  newspaper;  he  is  well  looked  on 
by  those  in  authority ;  he  can  afford  to  mix  with  Liberals,  for 
he  holds  sound  opinions ;  and  sooner  or  later  he  will  succeed. 
But  then  he  understood  how  to  choose  his  opinions  and  his 
protectors. 


278  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"Your  charming  neighbor"  (Mme.  d'Espard  glanced  at 
Mme.  de  Montcornet)  "  was  a  Troisville;  there  are  two  peers 
of  France  in  the  family  and  two  deputies.  She  made  a 
wealthy  marriage  with  her  name ;  she  sees  a  great  deal  of 
society  at  her  house  j  she  has  influence,  she  will  move  the 
political  world  for  young  Monsieur  Blondet.  Where  will  a 
Coralie  take  you  ?  In  a  few  years'  time  you  will  be  hope- 
lessly in  debt  and  weary  of  pleasure.  You  have  chosen  badly 
in  love  and  you  are  arranging  your  life  ill.  The  woman  whom 
you  delight  to  wound  was  at  the  opera  the  other  night,  and 
this  was  how  she  spoke  of  you.  She  deplored  the  way  in 
which  you  were  throwing  away  your  talent  and  the  prime  of 
youth ;  she  was  thinking  of  you,  and  not  of  herself,  all  the 
while." 

"Ah  !  if  only  you  were  telling  me  truth,  madame  !  "  cried 
Lucien. 

"  What  object  should  I  have  in  telling  lies  ?  "  returned  the 
Marquise,  with  a  glance  of  cold  disdain  which  annihilated 
him.  He  was  so  dashed  by  it  that  the  conversation  dropped, 
for  the  Marquise  was  offended  and  said  no  more. 

Lucien  was  nettled  by  her  silence,  but  he  felt  that  it  was 
due  to  his  own  clumsiness  and  promised  himself  that  he  would 
repair  his  error.  He  turned  to  Mme.  de  Montcornet  and 
talked  to  her  of  Blondet,  extolling  that  young  writer  for  her 
benefit.  The  Countess  was  gracious  to  him,  and  asked  him 
(at  a  sign  from  Mme.  d'Espard)  to  spend  an  evening  at  her 
house.  It  was  to  be  a  small  and  quiet  gathering  to  which  only 
friends  were  invited — Mme.  de  Bargeton  would  be  there  in 
spite  of  her  mourning ;  Lucien  would  be  pleased,  she  was 
sure,  to  meet  Mme.  de  Bargeton. 

"  Madame  la  Marquise  says  that  all  the  wrong  is  on  my 
side,"  said  Lucien  ;  "so  surely  it  rests  with  her  cousin,  does 
it  not,  to  decide  whether  she  will  meet  me  ?  " 

"  Put  an  end  to  those  ridiculous  attacks,  which  only  couple 
her  name  with  the  name  of  a  man  for  whom  she  does  not 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  279 

care  at  all,  and  you  will  soon  sign  a  treaty  of  peace.  You 
thought  that  she  had  used  you  ill,  I  am  told,  but  I  myself 
have  seen  her  in  sadness  because  you  had  forsaken  her. 
Is  it  true  that  she  left  the  provinces  on  your  account? " 

Lucien  smiled;  he  did  not  venture  to  make  any  other 
reply. 

*'  Oh  !  how  could  you  doubt  the  woman  who  made  such 
sacrifices  for  you  ?  Beautiful  and  intellectual  as  she  is,  she 
deserves  beside  to  be  loved  for  her  own  sake ;  and  Madame 
de  Bargeton  cared  less  for  you  than  for  your  talents.  Believe 
me,  women  value  intellect  more  than  good  looks,"  added  the 
Countess,  stealing  a  glance  at  Emile  Blondet. 

In  the  minister's  hotel  Lucien  could  see  the  differences 
between  the  great  world  and  that  other  world  beyond  the 
pale  in  which  he  had  lately  been  living.  There  was  no  sort 
of  resemblance  between  the  two  kinds  of  splendor,  no  single 
point  in  common.  The  loftiness  and  disposition  of  the 
rooms  in  one  of  the  handsomest  houses  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain,  the  ancient  gilding,  the  breadth  of  decorative 
style,  the  subdued  richness  of  the  accessories,  all  this  was 
strange  and  new  to  him ;  but  Lucien  had  learned  very  quickly 
to  take  luxury  for  granted,  and  he  showed  no  surprise.  His 
behavior  was  as  far  removed  from  assurance  or  fatuity  on  the 
one  hand  as  from  complacency  and  servility  on  the  other. 
His  manner  was  good  ;  he  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  all  who 
were  not  prepared  to  be  hostile,  like  the  younger  men,  who 
resented  his  sudden  intrusion  into  the  great  world  and  felt 
jealous  of  his  good  looks  and  his  success. 

When  they  arose  from  table,  he  offered  his  arm  to  Madame 
d'Espard,  and  was  not  refused.  Rastignac,  watching  him, 
saw  that  the  Marquise  was  gracious  to  Lucien,  and  came  in 
the  character  of  a  fellow-countryman  to  remind  the  poet  that 
they  had  met  once  before  at  Madame  du  Val-Noble''s.  The 
young  patrician  seemed  anxious  to  find  an  ally  in  the  great 
man  from  his  own  province,  asked  Lucien  to  breakfast  with 


280  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

him  some  morning,  and  offered  to  introduce  him  to  some 
young  n[ien  of  fashion.     Lucien  was  nothing  loth. 

"  The  dear  Blondet  is  coming,"  said  Rastignac. 

The  two  were  standing  near  the  Marquis  de  RonqueroUes, 
the  Due  de  Rh6tor6,  de  Marsay,  and  General  Montriveau. 
The  minister  came  across  to  join  the  group. 

"Well,"  said  he,  addressing  Lucien  with  the  bluff  German 
heartiness  that  concealed  his  dangerous  subtlety ;  "  well,  so 
you  have  made  your  peace  with  Madame  d'Espard;  she  is 
delighted  with  you,  and  we  all  know,"  he  added,  looking 
around  the  group,  "  how  difficult  it  is  to  please  her." 

"Yes,  but  she  adores  intellect,"  said  Rastignac,  "and 
my  illustrious  fellow-countryman  has  wit  enough  to  sell." 

"  He  will  soon  find  out  that  he  is  not  doing  well  for  him- 
self," Blondet  put  in  briskly.  "  He  will  come  over;  he  will 
soon  be  one  of  us." 

Those  who  stood  about  Lucien  rang  the  changes  on  this 
theme.;  the  older  and  responsible  men  laid  down  the  law  with 
one  or  two  profound  remarks  ;  the  younger  ones  made  merry 
at  the  expense  of  the  Liberals. 

"  He  simply  tossed  up  head  or  tails  for  Right  or  Left,  I  am 
sure,"  remarked  Blondet,  "but  now  he  will  choose  for  him- 
self." 

Lucien  burst  out  laughing ;  he  thought  of  his  talk  with 
Lousteau  that  evening  in  the  Luxembourg  Gardens. 

"He  has  taken  on  a  bear-leader,"  continued  Blondet, 
"  one  Etienne  Lousteau,  a  newspaper  hack  who  sees  a  five- 
franc  piece  in  a  column.  Lousteau's  politics  consist  in  a 
belief  that  Napoleon  will  return,  and  (and  this  seems  to  me 
to  be  still  more  simple)  in  a  confidence  in  the  gratitude  and 
patriotism  of  their  worships  the  gentlemen  of  the  Left.  As  a 
Rubempr6,  Lucien's  sympathies  should  lean  toward  the  aris- 
tocracy ;  as  a  journalist,  he  ought  to  be  for  authority,  or  he 
will  never  be  either  Rubempre  or  a  secretary-general." 

The  minister  now  asked  Lucien  to  take  a  hand  at  whist ; 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  281 

but,  to  the  great  astonishment  of  those  present,  he  declared 
that  he  did  not  know  the  game. 

"  Come  early  to  me  on  the  day  of  that  breakfast  affair," 
Rastignac  whispered,  *'  and  I  will  teach  you  to  play.  You  are 
a  discredit  to  the  royal  city  of  Angouleme ;  and,  to  repeat 
Monsieur  de  Talleyrand's  saying,  you  are  laying  up  an  un- 
happy old  age  for  yourself." 

Des  Lupeaulx  was  announced.  He  remembered  Lucien, 
whom  he  had  met  at  Mme.  du  Van-Noble's,  and  bowed  with 
a  semblance  of  friendliness  which  the  poet  could  not  doubt. 
Des  Lupeaulx  was  in  favor,  he  was  a  master  of  requests,  and 
did  the  ministry  secret  services;  he  was,  moreover,  cunning 
and  ambitious,  slipping  himself  in  everywhere  ;  he  was  every- 
body's friend,  for  he  never  knew  whom  he  might  need.  He 
saw  plainly  that  this  was  a  young  journalist  whose  social 
success  would  probably  equal  his  success  in  literature ;  saw, 
too,  that  the  poet  was  ambitious,  and  overwhelmed  him  with 
protestations  and  expressions  of  friendship  and  interest,  till 
Lucien  felt  as  if  they  were  old  friends  already,  and  took  his 
promises  and  speeches  for  more  than  their  worth.  Des 
Lupeaulx  made  a  point  of  knowing  a  man  thoroughly  well  if 
he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him  or  feared  him  as  a  rival.  So,  to 
all  appearance,  Lucien  was  well  received.  He  knew  that 
much  of  his  success  was  owing  to  the  Due  de  Rhetor^,  the 
Minister,  Mme.  d'Espard,  and  Mme.  de  Montcornet,  and  went 
to  spend  a  few  moments  with  the  two  ladies  before  taking 
leave,  and  talked  his  very  best  for  them. 

"What  a  coxcomb!"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  turning  to  the 
Mapquise  when  he  had  gone. 

"He  will  be  rotten  before  he  is  ripe,"  de  Marsay  added, 
smiling.  "  You  must  have  private  reasons  of  your  own, 
madame,  for  turning  his  head  in  this  way." 

When  Lucien  stepped  into  the  carriage  in  the  courtyard,  he 
found  Coralie  waiting  for  him.     She  had  come  to  fetch  him. 


282  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

The  little  attention  touched  him  ;  he  told  her  the  history  of 
his  evening ;  and,  to  his  no  small  astonishment,  the  new  no- 
tions which  even  now  were  running  in  his  head  met  with 
Coralie's  approval.  She  strongly  advised  him  to  enlist  under 
the  ministerial  banner. 

"  You  have  nothing  to  expect  from  the  Liberals  but  hard 
knocks,"  she  said.  "  They  plot  and  conspire ;  they  murdered 
the  Due  de  Berri.  Will  they  upset  the  government  ?  Never  ! 
You  will  never  come  to  anything  through  them,  while  you  will 
be  the  Comte  de  Rubempre  if  you  throw  in  your  lot  with  the 
other  side.  You  might  render  services  to  the  state,  and  be  a 
peer  of  France,  and  marry  an  heiress.  Be  an  Ultra.  It  is  the 
proper  thing  beside,"  she  added,  this  being  the  last  word  with 
her  on  all  subjects.  "  I  dined  with  the  Val-Noble  ;  she  told 
me  that  Theodore  Gaillard  is  really  going  to  start  his  little 
royalist  *  Revue,'  so  as  to  reply  to  your  witticisms  and  the 
jokes  in  *  The  Miroir.'  To  hear  them  talk,  Monsieur  Villele's 
party  will  be  in  office  before  the  year  is  out.  Try  to  turn  the 
change  to  account  before  they  come  to  power;  and  say  noth- 
ing to  Etienne  and  your  friends,  for  they  are  quite  equal  to 
playing  you  some  ill  turn." 

A  week  later  Lucien  went  to  Mme.  de  Montcomet's  house, 
and  saw  the  woman  whom  he  had  so  loved,  whom  later  he  had 
stabbed  to  the  heart  with  a  jest.  He  felt  the  most  violent 
agitation  at  the  sight  of  her,  for  Louise  also  had  undergone  a 
transformation.  She  was  the  Louise  that  she  would  always 
have  been  but  for  her  detention  in  the  provinces — she  was  a 
great  ,lady.  There  was  a  grace  and  refinement  in  her 
mourning  dress  which  told  that  she  was  a  happy  widow ; 
Lucien  fancied  that  this  coquetry  was  aimed  in  some  degree  at 
him,  and  he  was  right ;  but,  like  an  ogre,  he  had  tasted  flesh, 
and  all  that  evening  he  vacillated  between  Coralie's  warm, 
voluptuous  beauty  and  the  dried-up,  haughty,  cruel  Louise. 
He  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  sacrifice  the  actress  to  the 
great  lady ;  and  Mme.  de  Bargeton — all  the  old  feeling  re- 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  283 

viving  in  her  at  the  sight  of  Lucien,  Lucien's  beauty,  Lucien's 
cleverness — was  waiting  and  expecting  that  sacrifice  all  even- 
ing ;  and  after  all  her  insinuating  speeches  and  her  fascina- 
tions, she  had  her  trouble  for  her  pains.  She  left  the  room 
with  a  fixed  determination  to  be  revenged. 

**Well,  dear  Lucien,"  she  had  said,  and  in  her  kindness 
there  was  both  generosity  and  Parisian  grace;  "well,  dear 
Lucien,  so  you,  that  were  to  have  been  my  pride,  took  me  for 
your  first  victim ;  and  I  forgave  you,  my  dear,  for  I  felt  that 
in  such  a  revenge  there  was  a  trace  of  love  still  left." 

With  that  speech,  and  the  queenly  way  in  which  it  was 
uttered,  Mme.  de  Bargeton  recovered  her  position.  Lucien, 
convinced  that  he  was  a  thousand  times  in  the  right,  felt  that 
he  had  been  put  in  the  wrong.  Not  one  word  of  the  causes 
of  the  rupture  !  not  one  syllable  of  the  terrible  farewell  letter  ! 
A  woman  of  the  world  has  a  wonderful  genius  for  diminishing 
her  faults  by  laughing  at  them ;  she  can  obliterate  them  all 
with  a  smile  or  a  question  of  feigned  surprise,  and  she  knows 
this.  She  remembers  nothing,  she  can  explain  everything; 
she  is  amazed,  asks  questions,  comments,  amplifies,  and  quar- 
rels with  you,  till  in  the  end  her  sins  disappear  like  stains  on 
the  application  of  a  little  soap  and  water ;  black  as  ink  you 
knew  them  to  be  ;  and  lo  !  in  a  moment,  you  behold  immacu- 
late, white  innocence,  and  lucky  are  you  if  you  do  not  find 
that  you  yourself  have  sinned  in  some  way  beyond  redemption. 

In  a  moment  old  illusions  regained  their  power  over  Lucien 
and  Louise ;  they  talked  like  friends,  as  before ;  but  when  the 
lady,  with  a  hesitating  sigh,  put  the  question,  ''Are  you 
happy?"  Lucien  was  not  ready  with  a  prompt,  decided 
answer;  he  was  intoxicated  with  gratified  vanity;  Coralie, 
who  (let  us  admit  it)  had  made  life  easy  for  him,  had  turned 
his  head.  A  melancholy  "  No  "  would  have  made  his  fortune, 
but  he  must  needs  begin  to  explain  his  position  with  regard 
to  Coralie.  He  said  that  he  was  loved  for  his  own  sake ;  he 
said  a  good  many  foolish  things  that  a  man  will  say  when  he 


284  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

is  smitten  with  a  tender  passion,  and  thought  the  while  that 
he  was  doing  a  clever  thing. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  bit  her  lips.  There  was  no  more  to  be 
said.  Mme.  d'Espard  brought  Mme.  de  Montcornet  to  her 
cousin,  and  Lucien  became  the  hero  of  the  evening,  so  to 
speak.  He  was  flattered,  petted,  and  made  much  of  by  the 
three  women  ;  he  was  entangled  with  art  which  no  words  can 
describe.  His  social  success  in  this  fine  and  brilliant  circle 
was  at  least  as  great  as  his  triumphs  in  journalism.  Beautiful 
Mile,  des  Touches,  so  well  known  as  "  Camille  Maupin," 
asked  him  to  one  of  her  Wednesday  dinners  ;  his  beauty,  now 
so  justly  famous,  seemed  to  have  made  an  impression  upon 
her.  Lucien  exerted  himself  to  show  that  his  wit  equaled  his 
good  looks,  and  Mile,  des  Touches  expressed  her  admiration 
with  a  playful  outspokenness  and  a  pretty  fervor  of  friendship 
which  deceives  those  who  do  not  know  life  in  Paris  to  its 
depths,  nor  suspect  how  continual  enjoyment  whets  the  appe- 
tite for  novelty. 

"  If  she  should  like  me  as  much  as  I  like  her,  we  might 
abridge  the  romance,"  said  Lucien,  addressing  de  Marsay 
and  Rastignac. 

"You  both  of  you  write  romances  too  well  to  care  to  live 
them,"  returned  Rastignac.  "  Can  men  and  women  who 
write  ever  fall  in  love  with  each  other  ?  A  time  is  sure  to 
come  when  they  begin  to  make  little  cutting  remarks." 

"  It  would  not  be  a  bad  dream  for  you,"  laughed  de  Mar- 
say.  "The  charming  young  lady  is  thirty  years  old,  it  is 
true,  but  she  has  an  income  of  eighty  thousand  livres.  She 
is  adorably  capricious,  and  her  style  of  beauty  wears  well. 
Coralie  is  a  silly  little  fool,  my  dear  boy,  well  enough  for  a 
start,  for  a  young  spark  must  have  a  mistress  ;  but  unless  you 
make  some  great  conquest  in  the  great  world,  an  actress  will 
do  you  harm  in  the  long  run.  Now,  my  boy,  go  and  cut  out 
Conti.  Here  he  is,  just  about  to  sing  with  Camille  Maupin. 
Poetry  has  taken  precedence  of  music  ever  since  time  began." 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  285' 

But  when  Lucien  heard  Mile,  des  Touches'  voice  blending 
with  Conti's,  his  hopes  fled. 

"  Conti  sings  too  well,"  he  told  des  Lupeaulx ;  and  he  went 
back  to  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  who  carried  him  off  to  Mme. 
d'Espard  in  another  room. 

"Well,  will  you  not  interest  yourself  in  him?"  asked 
Mme.  de  Bargeton. 

The  Marquise  spoke  with  an  air  half-kindly,  half-insolent. 
"  Let  Monsieur  Chardon  first  put  himself  in  such  a  position 
that  he  will  not  compromise  those  who  take  an  interest  in 
him,"  she  said.  "If  he  wishes  to  drop  his  patronymic  and 
to  bear  his  mother's  name,  he  should  at  any  rate  be  on  the 
right  side,  should  he  not  ?  " 

"In  less  than  two  months  I  will  arrange  everything,"  said 
Lucien. 

"Very  well,"  returned  Mme.  d'Espard.  "I  will  speak  to 
my  father  and  uncle  ;  they  are  in  waiting,  they  will  speak  to 
the  chancellor  for  you." 

The  diplomatist  and  the  two  women  had  very  soon  discov- 
ered Lucien's  weak  side.  The  poet's  head  was  turned  by  the 
glory  of  the  aristocracy  ;  every  man  who  entered  the  rooms 
bore  a  sounding  name  mounted  in  a  glittering  title  and  he 
himself  was  plain  Chardon.  Unspeakable  mortification  filled 
him  at  the  sound  of  it.  Wherever  he  had  been  during  the 
last  few  days  that  pang  had  been  constantly  present  with 
him.  He  felt,  moreover,  a  sensation  quite  as  unpleasant 
when  he  went  back  to  his  desk  after  an  evening  spent  in  the 
great  world,  in  which  he  made  a  tolerable  figure,  thanks  to 
Coralie's  carriage  and  Coralie's  servants.  It  was,  in  fact, 
a  constant  mortification. 

He  learned  to  ride,  in  order  to  escort  Mme.  d'Espard,  Mile, 
des  Touches,  and  the  Comtesse  de  Montcornet  when  they 
drove  in  the  Bois,  a  privilege  which  he  had  envied  other  young 
men  so  greatly  when  he  first  came  to  Paris.  Finot  was  de- 
lighted to  give  his  right-hand  man  an  order  for  the  opera,  so 


286  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

Lucien  wasted  many  an  evening  there,  and  thenceforward  he 
was  one  among  the  exquisites  of  the  day,  most  of  whom  he 
outshone. 

The  poet  asked  Rastignac  and  his  new  associates  to  a  break- 
fast, and  made  the  blunder  of  giving  it  in  Coralie's  rooms  in 
the  Rue  de  Vendome  ;  he  was  too  young,  too  much  of  a  poet, 
too  self-confident,  to  discern  certain  shades  and  distinctions 
in  conduct ;  and  how  should  an  actress,  a  good-hearted  but 
uneducated  girl,  teach  him  life  ?  His  guests  were  anything 
but  charitably  disposed  toward  him  ;  it  was  clearly  proven  to 
their  minds  that  Lucien  the  critic  and  the  actress  were  in  col- 
lusion for  their  mutual  interests,  and  all  of  the  young  men 
were  jealous  of  an  arrangement  which  all  of  them  stigma- 
tized. The  most  pitiless  of  those  who  laughed  that  evening 
at  Lucien 's  expense  was  Rastignac  himself.  Rastignac  had 
made  and  held  his  position  by  very  similar  means  ;  but  so 
careful  had  he  been  of  appearances  that  he  could  afford  to 
treat  scandal  as  slander. 

Lucien  proved  an  apt  pupil  at  whist.  Play  became  a  pas- 
sion with  him  ;  and,  so  far  from  disapproving,  Coralie  encour- 
aged his  extravagance  with  the  peculiar  shortsightedness  of  an 
all-absorbing  love,  which  sees  nothing  beyond  the  moment 
and  is  ready  to  sacrifice  anything,  even  the  future,  to  the 
present  enjoyment.  Coralie  looked  on  cards  as  a  safeguard 
against  rivals.  A  great  love  has  much  in  common  with  child- 
hood— a  child's  heedless,  careless,  spendthrift  ways,  a  child's 
laughter  and  tears. 

In  those  days  there  lived  and  flourished  a  set  of  young  men, 
some  of  them  rich,  some  poor,  and  all  of  them  idle,  called 
**  free-livers"  (viveurs)',  and,  indeed,  they  lived  with  incred- 
ible insolence — unabashed  and  unproductive  consumers  and 
yet  more  intrepid  drinkers.  These  spendthrifts  mingled  the 
roughest  practical  jokes  with  a  life  not  so  much  reckless  as 
suicidal ;  they  drew  back  from  no  impossibility,  and  gloried 
in  pranks  which,  nevertheless,  were  confined  within  certain 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  237 

limits ;  and  as  they  showed  the  most  original  wit  in  their 
escapades,  it  was  impossible  not  to  pardon  them. 

No  sign  of  the  times  more  plainly  discovered  the  helotism 
to  which  the  restoration  had  condemned  the  young  manhood 
of  the  epoch.  The  younger  men,  being  at  a  loss  to  know 
what  to  do  with  themselves,  were  compelled  to  find  other 
outlets  for  their  superabundant  energy  beside  journalism,  or 
conspiracy,  or  art,  or  letters.  They  squandered  their  strength 
in  the  wildest  excesses,  such  sap  and  luxuriant  power  were  there 
in  young  France.  The  hard  workers  among  these  gilded 
youths  wanted  power  and  pleasure;  the  artists  wished  for 
money ;  the  idle  sought  to  stimulate  their  appetites  or  wished 
for  excitement ;  one  and  all  of  them  wanted  a  place,  and  one 
and  all  were  shut  out  from  politics  and  public  life.  Nearly  all 
the  "free-livers"  were  men  of  unusual  mental  powers;  some 
held  out  against  the  enervating  life,  others  were  ruined  by  it. 
The  most  celebrated  and  the  cleverest  among  them  was  Eugene 
Rastignac,  who  entered,  with  de  Marsay's  help,  upon  a  politi- 
cal career,  in  which  he  has  since  distinguished  himself.  The 
practical  jokes  in  which  the  set  indulged  became  so  famous 
that  not  a  few  vaudevilles  have  been  founded  upon  them. 

Blondet  introduced  Lucien  to  this  society  of  prodigals,  of 
which  he  became  a  brilliant  ornament,  ranking  next  to  Bixiou, 
one  of  the  most  mischievous  and  untiring  scoffing  wits  of  his 
time.  All  through  that  winter  Lucien's  life  was  one  long  fit 
of  intoxication,  with  intervals  of  easy  work.  He  continued 
his  series  of  sketches  of  contemporary  life,  and  very  occa- 
sionally made  great  efforts  to  write  a  few  pages  of  serious  criti- 
cism, on  which  he  brought  his  utmost  power  of  thought  to 
bear.  But  study  was  the  exception,  not  the  rule,  and  only 
undertaken  at  the  bidding  of  necessity ;  dinners  and  break- 
fasts, parties  of  pleasure  and  play,  took  up  most  of  his  time 
and  Coralie  absorbed  all  that  was  left.  He  would  not  think 
of  the  morrow.  He  saw  beside  that  his  so-called  friends  were 
leading  the  same  life,  earning  money  easily  by  writing  pub- 


288  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

lishers'  prospectuses  and  articles  paid  for  by  speculators ;  all 
of  them  lived  beyond  their  incomes,  none  of  them  thought 
seriously  of  the  future. 

Lucien  had  been  admitted  into  the  ranks  of  journalism  and 
of  literature  on  terms  of  equality ;  he  foresaw  immense  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  if  he  should  try  to  rise  above  the  rest. 
Every  one  was  willing  to  look  upon  him  as  an  equal ;  no  one 
would  have  him  for  a  superior.  Unconsciously  he  gave  up 
the  idea  of  winning  fame  in  literature,  for  it  seemed  easier  to 
gain  success  in  politics. 

"Intrigue  raises  less  opposition  than  talent,"  du  ChStelet 
had  said  one  day  (for  Lucien  and  the  Baron  had  made  up 
their  quarrel) ;  "a  plot  below  the  surface  rouses  no  one's  at- 
tention. Intrigue,  moreover,  is  superior  to  talent,  for  it  makes 
something  out  of  nothing  ;  while,  for  the  most  part,  the  im- 
mense resources  of  talent  only  injure  a  man." 

So  Lucien  never  lost  sight  of  his  principal  idea ;  and  though 
to-morrow,  following  close  upon  the  heels  of  to-day  in  the 
midst  of  an  orgie,  never  found  the  promised  work  accom- 
plished, Lucien  was  assiduous  in  society.  He  paid  court  to 
Mme.  de  Bargeton,  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  and  the  Comtesse 
de  Montcornet ;  he  never  missed  a  single  party  given  by  Mile. 
des  Touches,  appearing  in  society  after  a  dinner  given  by 
authors  or  publishers  and  leaving  the  salons  for  a  supper  given 
in  consequence  of  a  bet.  The  demands  of  conversation  and 
the  excitement  of  play  absorbed  all  the  ideas  and  energy  left 
by  excess.  The  poet  had  lost  the  lucidity  of  judgment  and 
coolness  of  head  which  must  be  preserved  if  a  man  is  to  see 
all  that  is  going  on  around  him,  and  never  to  lose  the  exquisite 
tact  which  the  parvenu  needs  at  every  moment.  How  should 
he  know  how  many  a  time  Mme.  de  Bargeton  left  him  with 
wounded  susceptibilities,  how  often  she  forgave  him  or  added 
one  more  condemnation  to  the  rest  ? 

Ch^telet  saw  that  his  rival  had  still  a  chance  left,  so  he 
became  Lucien' s  friend.     He  encouraged  the  poet  in  dissipa- 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  289 

tion  that  wasted  his  energies.  Rastignac,  jealous  of  his  fellow- 
countryman,  and  thinking,  beside,  that  ChStelet  would  be  a 
surer  and  more  useful  ally  than  Lucien,  had  taken  up  the 
Baron's  cause.  So,  some  few  days  after  the  meeting  of  the 
Petrarch  and  Laura  of  Angoul6me,  Rastignac  brought  about 
a  reconciliation  between  the  poet  and  the  elderly  beau  at  a 
sumptuous  supper  given  at  the  "  Rocher  de  Cancale."  Lucien 
never  returned  home  till  morning,  and  rose  in  the  middle  of 
the  day  ;  Coralie  was  always  at  his  side,  he  could  not  forego 
a  single  pleasure.  Sometimes  he  saw  his  real  position,  and 
made  good  resolutions,  but  they  came  to  nothing  in  his  idle, 
easy  life ;  and  the  mainspring  of  will  grew  slack,  and  only 
responded  to  the  heaviest  pressure  of  necessity. 

Coralie  had  been  glad  that  Lucien  should  amuse  himself; 
she  had  encouraged  him  in  this  reckless  expenditure,  because 
she  thought  that  the  cravings  which  she  fostered  would  bind 
her  lover  to  her ;  he  could  not  lead  his  present  life  without 
her.  But  tender-hearted  and  loving  as  she  was,  she  found 
courage  to  advise  Lucien  not  to  forget  his  work,  and  once  or 
twice  was  obliged  to  remind  him  that  he  had  earned  very 
little  during  the  month.  Their  debts  were  growing  frightfully 
fast.  The  fifteen  hundred  francs  which  remained  from  the 
purchase-money  of  the  "Marguerites"  had  been  swallowed 
up  at  once,  together  with  Lucien's  first  five  hundred  livres. 
In  three  months  he  had  only  made  a  thousand  francs,  yet  he 
felt  as  though  he  had  been  working  tremendously  hard.  But 
by  this  time  Lucien  had  adopted  the  "  free-liver's"  pleasant 
theory  of  debts. 

Debts  are  becoming  to  a  young  man,  but  after  the  age  of 
five-and-twenty  they  are  inexcusable.  It  should  be  observed 
that  there  are  certain  natures  in  which  a  really  poetic  temper 
is  united  with  a  weakened  will ;  and  these  while  absorbed  in 
feeling,  that  they  may  transmute  personal  experience,  sensa- 
tion, or  impression  into  some  permanent  form,  are  essentially 
deficient  in  the  moral  sense  which  should  accompany  all  ob- 
19 


290  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

servation.  Poets  prefer  rather  to  receive  their  own  impressions 
than  to  enter  into  the  souls  of  others  to  study  the  mechanism 
of  their  feelings  and  thoughts.  So  Lucien  neither  asked  his 
associates  what  became  of  those  who  disappeared  from  among 
them,  nor  looked  into  the  futures  of  his  so-called  friends. 
Some  of  them  were  heirs  to  property,  others  had  definite  ex- 
pectations ;  yet  others  either  possessed  names  that  were  known 
in  the  world,  or  a  most  robust  belief  in  their  destiny  and  a 
fixed  resolution  to  circumvent  the  law.  Lucien,  too,  believed 
in  his  future  on  the  strength  of  various  profound  axiomatic 
sayings  of  Blondet's :  "  Everything  comes  out  all  right  at  last. 
If  a  man  has  nothing,  his  affairs  cannot  be  embarrassed.  We 
have  nothing  to  lose  but  the  fortune  that  we  seek.  Swim  with 
the  stream  ;  it  will  take  you  somewhere.  A  clever  man  with 
a  footing  in  society  can  make  a  fortune  whenever  he  pleases." 
That  winter,  filled  as  it  was  with  so  many  pleasures  and 
dissipations,  was  a  necessary  interval  employed  in  finding 
capital  for  the  new  royalist  paper;  Theodore  Gaillard  and 
Hector  Merlin  only  brought  out  the  first  number  of  the 
"Rdveil"  in  March,  1822.  The  affair  had  been  settled  at 
Mme.  du  Val-Noble's  house.  Mme.  du  Val-Noble  exercised 
a  certain  influence  over  the  great  personages,  royalist  writers, 
and  bankers  who  met  in  her  splendid  rooms — "  fit  for  a  tale 
out  of  the  'Arabian  Nights,'  "  as  the  elegant  and  clever  cour- 
tesan herself  used  to  say — to  transact  business  which  could 
not  well  be  arranged  elsewhere.  The  editorship  had  been 
promised  to  Hector  Merlin.  Lucien,  Merlin's  intimate,  was 
pretty  certain  to  be  his  right-hand  man,  and  a  feuilleton  in  a 
ministerial  paper  had  been  promised  to  him  beside.  All 
through  the  dissipations  of  that  winter  Lucien  had  been 
secretly  making  ready  for  this  change  of  front.  Child  as  he 
was,  he  fancied  that  he  was  a  deep  politician  because  he  con- 
cealed  the  preparation  for  the  approaching  transformation 
scene,  while  he  was  counting  upon  ministerial  largesses  to 
extricate  himself  from  embarrassment  and  to  lighten  Coralie's 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  291 

secret  cares.  Coraiie  said  nothing  of  her  distress ;  she  smiled 
now,  as  always;  but  Berenice  was  bolder,  she  kept  Lucien 
informed  of  their  difficulties ;  and  the  budding  great  man, 
moved,  after  the  fashion  of  poets,  by  the  tale  of  disasters, 
would  vow  that  he  would  begin  to  work  in  earnest,  and  then 
forget  his  resolution,  and  drown  his  fleeting  cares  in  excess. 
One  day  Coraiie  saw  the  poetic  brow  overcast,  scolded  Bere- 
nice, and  told  her  lover  that  everything  would  be  settled. 

Mme.  d'Espard  and  Mme.  de  Bargeton  were  waiting  for 
Lucien' s  profession  of  his  new  creed,  so  they  said,  before 
applying  through  Ch^telet  for  the  patent  which  should  per- 
mit Lucien  to  bear  the  so-much  desired  name.  Lucien  had 
proposed  to  dedicate  the  "Marguerites"  to  Mme.  d'Espard, 
and  the  Marquise  seemed  to  be  not  a  little  flattered  by  a  com- 
pliment which  authors  have  been  somewhat  chary  of  paying 
since  they  became  a  power  in  the  land;  but  when  Lucien 
went  to  Dauriat  and  asked  after  his  book,  that  worthy  pub- 
lisher met  him  with  excellent  reasons  for  the  delay  in  its 
appearance.  Dauriat  had  this  and  that  in  hand,  which  took 
up  all  his  time  ;  a  new  volume  by  Canalis  was  coming  out 
and  he  did  not  want  the  two  books  to  clash ;  M.  de  Lamar- 
tine's  second  series  of  "  Meditations"  was  in  the  press,  and 
two  important  collections  of  poetry  ought  not  to  appear 
together. 

By  this  time,  however,  Lucien's  needs  were  so  pressing  that 
he  had  recourse  to  Finot,  and  received  an  advance  on  his 
work.  When,  at  a  supper-party  that  evening,  the  poet-jour- 
nalist explained  his  position  to  his  friends  in  the  fast  set,  they 
drowned  his  scruples  in  champagne,  iced  with  pleasantries. 
Debts !  There  was  never  yet  a  man  of  any  power  without 
debts  !  Debts  represented  satisfied  cravings,  clamorous  vices. 
A  man  only  succeeds  under  the  pressure  of  the  iron  hand  of 
necessity.     Debts  forsooth ! 

**  Why,  the  one  pledge  of  which  a  great  man  can  be  sure 
is  given  him  by  his  friend  the  pawnbroker,"  cried  Blondet. 


292  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"  If  you  want  everything,  you  must  owe  for  everything,** 
called  Bixiou. 

"No,"  corrected  des  Lupeaulx,  "if  you  owe  for  every- 
thing, you  have  had  everything." 

The  party  contrived  to  convince  the  novice  that  his  debts 
were  a  golden  spur  to  urge  on  the  horses  of  the  chariot  of  his 
fortunes.  There  is  always  the  stock  example  of  Julius  Caesar 
with  his  debt  of  forty  millions,  and  Friedrich  II.  on  an  allow- 
ance of  one  ducat  a  month,  and  a  host  of  other  great  men 
whose  failings  are  held  up  for  the  corruption  of  youth,  while 
not  a  word  is  said  of  their  wide-reaching  ideas,  their  courage 
equal  to  all  odds. 

Creditors  seized  Coralie's  horses,  carriage,  and  furniture  at 
last,  for  an  amount  of  four  thousand  francs.  Lucien  went  to 
Lousteau  and  asked  his  friend  to  meet  his  bill  for  the  thousand 
francs  lent  to  pay  gaming  debts ;  but  Lousteau  showed  him 
certain  pieces  of  stamped  paper  which  proved  that  Florine 
was  in  much  the  same  case.  Lousteau  was  grateful,  however, 
and  offered  to  take  the  necessary  steps  for  the  sale  of  Lucien's 
"Archer  of  Charles  IX." 

"  How  came  Florine  to  be  in  this  plight?"  asked  Lucien. 

"The  Matifat  took  alarm,"  said  Lousteau.  "  We  have  lost 
him ;  but,  if  Florine  chooses,  she  can  make  him  pay  dear  for 
his  treachery.     I  will  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Three  days  after  this  bootless  errand,  Lucien  and  Coralie 
were  breakfasting  in  melancholy  spirits  beside  the  fire  in 
their  pretty  bedroom.  Berenice  had  cooked  a  dish  of  eggs 
for  them  over  the  grate;  for  the  cook  had  gone,  and  the 
coachman  and  servants  had  taken  leave.  They  could  not  sell 
the  furniture,  for  it  had  been  attached ;  there  was  not  a  single 
object  of  any  value  in  the  house;  a  goodly  collection  of 
pawntickets,  forming  a  very  instructive  octavo  volume,  repre- 
sented all  the  gold,  silver,  and  jewelry.  B6r6nice  had  kept 
back  a  couple  of  spoons  and  forks,  that  was  all. 

Lousteau's  newspaper  was  of  service  now  to  Coralie  and 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  293 

Lucien,  little  as  they  suspected  it  j  for  the  tailor,  dressmaker, 
and  milliner  were  afraid  to  meddle  with  a  journalist  who  was 
quite  capable  of  writing  down  their  establishments. 

Etienne  Lousteau  broke  in  upon  their  breakfast  with  a  shout 
of  "  Hurrah  !  Long  live  *  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX.  !  ' 
And  I  have  converted  a  hundred  francs'  worth  of  books  into 
cash,  children.     We  will  go  halves." 

He  handed  fifty  francs  to  Coralie,  and  sent  Berenice  out  in 
quest  of  a  more  substantial  breakfast. 

"  Hector  Merlin  and  I  went  to  a  booksellers'  trade  dinner 
yesterday,  and  prepared  the  way  for  your  romance  with  cun- 
ning insinuations.  Dauriat  is  in  treaty,  but  Dauriat  is  hag- 
gling over  it ;  he  won't  give  more  than  four  thousand  francs 
for  two  thousand  copies,  and  you  want  six  thousand  francs. 
We  made  you  out  twice  as  great  as  Sir  Walter  Scott !  Oh  ! 
you  have  such  novels  as  never  were  in  the  inwards  of  you. 
It  is  not  a  mere  book  for  sale,  it  is  a  big  business ;  you  are 
not  simply  the  writer  of  one  more  or  less  ingenious  novel,  you 
are  going  to  write  a  whole  series.  That  word  *  series  '  did  it ! 
So,  mind  you,  don't  forget  that  you  have  a  great  historical 
series  on  hand — *  La  Grande  Mademoiselle,  or  The  France  of 
Louis  Quatorze; '  '  Cotillon  I.,  or  The  Early  Days  of  Louis 
Quinze ; '  *  The  Queen  and  the  Cardinal,  or  Paris  and  the 
Fronde ; '  *  The  Son  of  the  Concini,  or  Richelieu's  In- 
trigue.' These  novels  will  be  announced  on  the  wrapper  of 
the  book.  We  call  this  manoeuvre  '  giving  a  success  a  toss  in 
the  coverlet,'  for  the  titles  are  all  to  appear  on  the  cover,  till 
you  will  be  better  known  for  the  books  that  you  have  not 
written  than  for  the  work  you  have  done.  And  *  In  the 
Press '  is  a  way  of  gaining  credit  in  advance  for  work  that  you 
will  do.  Come  now,  let  us  have  a  little  fun  !  Here  comes 
the  champagne.  You  can  understand,  Lucien,  that  our  men 
opened  eyes  as  big  as  saucers.  By-the-by,  I  see  that  you  have 
saucers  still  left." 

"They  are  attached,"  explained  Coralie. 


294  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

*'  I  understand,  and  I  resume :  Show  a  publisher  one 
manuscript  volume  and  he  will  believe  in  all  the  rest.  A  pub- 
lisher asks  to  see  your  manuscript  and  gives  you  to  understand 
that  he  is  going  to  read  it.  Why  disturb  his  harmless  vanity. 
They  never  read  a  manuscript;  they  would  not  publish  so 
many  if  they  did.  Well,  Hector  and  I  allowed  it  to  leak  out 
that  you  might  consider  an  offer  of  five  thousand  francs  for 
three  thousand  copies,  in  two  editions.  Let  me  have  your 
'Archer ;  *  the  day  after  to-morrow  we  are  to  breakfast  with 
the  publishers,  and  we  will  get  the  upper  hand  of  them." 

"  Who  are  they?  "  asked  Lucien. 

"Two  partners  named  Fendant  and  Cavalier;  they  are  two 
good  fellows,  pretty  straightforward  in  business.  One  of  them 
used  to  be  with  Vidal  and  Porchon,  the  other  is  the  cleverest 
hand  on  the  Quai  des  Augustins.  They  only  started  in  busi- 
ness last  year,  and  have  lost  a  little  on  translations  of  English 
novels ;  so  now  my  gentlemen  have  a  mind  to  exploit  the 
native  product.  There  is  a  rumor  current  that  these  dealers 
in  spoiled  white  paper  are  trading  on  other  people's  capital ; 
but  I  don't  think  it  matters  very  much  to  you  who  finds  the 
money  so  long  as  you  are  paid." 

Two  days  later  the  pair  went  to  a  breakfast  in  the  Rue  Ser- 
pente,  in  Lucien's  old  quarter  of  Paris.  Lousteau  still  kept 
his  room  in  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe ;  and  it  was  in  the  same 
state  as  before,  but  this  time  Lucien  felt  no  surprise ;  he  had 
been  initiated  into  the  life  of  journalism  ;  he  knew  all  its  ups 
and  downs.  Since  that  evening  of  his  introduction  to  the 
Wooden  Galleries,  he  had  been  paid  for  many  an  article,  and 
gambled  away  the  money  along  with  the  desire  to  write.  He 
had  filled  columns,  not  once  but  many  times,  in  the  ingenious 
ways  described  by  Lousteau  on  that  memorable  evening  as 
they  went  to  the  Palais  Royal.  He  was  dependent  upon 
Barbet  and  Braulard ;  he  trafficked  in  books  and  theatre- 
tickets  ;  he  shrank  no  longer  from  any  attack,  from  writing 
any  panegyric ;  and  at  this  moment  he  was  in  some  sort  re- 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  296 

<- 
joicing  to  make  all  that  he  could  out  of  Lousteau  before 
turning  his  back  on  the  Liberals.  His  intimate  knowledge  of 
the  party  would  stand  him  in  good  stead  in  future.  And 
Lousteau,  on  his  side,  was  privately  receiving  five  hundred 
francs  of  the  purchase- money,  under  the  name  of  commission, 
from  Fendant  and  Cavalier  for  introducing  the  future  Sir 
Walter  Scott  to  two  enterprising  tradesmen  in  search  of  a 
French  author  of  "  Waverley." 

The  firm  of  Fendant  and  Cavalier  had  started  in  business 
without  any  capital  whatsoever.  A  great  many  publishing 
houses  were  established  at  that  time  in  the  same  way,  and  are 
likely  to  be  established  so  long  as  papermakers  and  printers 
will  give  credit  for  the  time  required  to  play  some  seven  or 
eight  of  the  games  of  chance  called  "  new  publications."  At 
that  time,  as  at  present,  the  author's  copyright  was  paid  for 
in  bills  at  six,  nine,  and  twelve  months — a  method  of  payment 
determined  by  the  custom  of  the  trade,  for  booksellers  settle 
accounts  between  themselves  by  bills  at  even  longer  dates. 
Papermakers  and  printers  are  paid  in  the  same  way,  so  that  in 
practice  the  publisher-bookseller  has  a  dozen  or  a  score  of 
works  on  sale  for  a  twelvemonth  before  he  pays  for  them. 
Even  if  only  two  or  three  of  these  hit  the  public  taste,  the 
profitable  speculations  pay  for  the  bad  and  the  publisher  pays 
his  way  by  grafting,  as  it  were,  one  book  upon  another.  But 
if  all  of  them  turn  out  badly,  or  if,  for  his  misfortune,  the  pub- 
lisher-bookseller happens  to  bring  out  some  really  good  litera- 
ture which  stays  on  hand  until  the  right  public  discovers  and 
appreciates  it ;  or,  if  it  costs  too  much  to  discount  the  paper 
that  he  receives,  then,  resignedly,  he  files  his  schedule  and 
becomes  a  bankrupt  with  an  untroubled  mind.  He  was  pre- 
pared all  along  for  something  of  the  kind.  So,  all  the  chances 
being  in  favor  of  the  publishers,  they  staked  other  people's 
money,  not  their  own,  upon  the  gambling-table  of  business 
speculation. 

This  was  the  case  with  Fendant  and  Cavalier.     Cavalier 


296  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

brought  his  experience,  Fendant  his  industry ;  the  capital  was 
a  joint-stock  affair,  and  very  accurately  described  by  that 
word,  for  it  consisted  in  a  few  thousand  francs  scraped  to- 
gether with  difficulty  by  the  mistresses  of  the  pair.  Out  of 
this  fund  they  allowed  each  other  a  fairly  handsome  salary  and 
scrupulously  spent  it  all  in  dinners  to  journalists  and  authors, 
or  at  the  theatre,  where  their  business  was  transacted,  as  they 
said.  This  questionably  honest  couple  were  both  supposed  to 
be  clever  men  of  business,  but  Fendant  was  more  slippery  than 
Cavalier.  Cavalier,  true  to  his  name,  traveled  about ;  Fendant 
looked  after  business  in  Paris.  A  partnership  between  two 
publishers  is  always  more  or  less  of  a  duel,  and  so  it  was  with 
Fendant  and  Cavalier. 

They  had  brought  out  plenty  of  romances  already,  such  as 
the  "Tour  du  Nord,"  "  Le  Marchand  de  Benares,"  "La 
Fontaine  du  S^pulcre,"  and  "Tekeli,"  translations  of  the 
works  of  Gait,  an  English  novelist  who  never  attained  much 
popularity  in  France.  The  success  of  translations  of  Scott 
had  called  the  attention  of  the  trade  to  English  novels.  The 
race  of  publishers,  all  agog  for  a  second  Norman  Conquest, 
were  seeking  industriously  for  a  second  Scott,  just  as  at  a 
rather  later  day  every  one  must  needs  look  for  asphalt  in 
stony  soil  or  bitumen  in  marshes,  and  speculate  in  projected 
railways.  The  stupidity  of  the  Paris  commercial  world  is 
conspicuous  in  these  attempts  to  do  the  same  thing  twice,  for 
success  lies  in  contraries ;  and  in  Paris,  of  all  places  in  the 
world,  success  spoils  success.  So  beneath  the  title  of  "Stre- 
litz,  or  Russia  a  Hundred  Years  Ago,"  Fendant  and  Cavalier 
rashly  added  in  big  letters  the  words,  **  In  the  style  of  Scott." 

Fendant  and  Cavalier  were  in  great  need  of  a  success.  A 
single  good  book  might  float  their  sunken  bales,  they  thought ; 
and  there  was  the  alluring  prospect  beside  of  articles  in  the 
newspapers,  the  great  way  of  promoting  sales  in  those  days. 
A  book  is  very  seldom  bought  and  sold  for  its  just  value,  and 
purchases  are  determined  by  considerations  quite  other  than 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  297 

the  merits  of  the  work.  So  Fendant  and  Cavalier  thought  of 
Lucien  as  a  journalist  and  of  his  book  as  a  salable  article, 
which  would  help  them  to  tide  over  their  monthly  settlement. 

The  partners  occupied  the  ground  floor  of  one  of  the  great 
old-fashioned  houses  in  the  Rue  Serpente  ;  their  private  office 
had  been  contrived  at  the  further  end  of  a  suite  of  large 
drawing-rooms,  now  converted  into  warehouses  for  books. 
Lucien  and  Etienne  found  the  publishers  in  their  office,  the 
agreement  drawn  up,  and  the  bills  ready.  Lucien  wondered 
at  such  prompt  action. 

Fendant  was  short  and  thin  and  by  no  means  reassuring  of 
aspect.  With  his  low,  narrow  forehead,  sunken  nose,  and 
hard  mouth,  he  looked  like  a  Kalmuck  Tartar ;  a  pair  of 
small,  wide-awake,  black  eyes,  the  crabbed  irregular  outline 
of  his  countenance,  a  voice  like  a  cracked  bell — the  man's 
whole  appearance,  in  fact,  combined  to  give  the  impression 
that  this  was  a  consummate  rascal.  A  honeyed  tongue  com- 
pensated for  these  disadvantages  and  he  gained  his  ends  by 
talk.  Cavalier,  a  stout,  thick-set  young  fellow,  looked  more 
like  the  driver  of  a  mail-coach  than  a  publisher ;  he  had  hair 
of  a  sandy  color,  a  fiery-red  countenance,  and  the  heavy  build 
and  untiring  tongue  of  a  commercial  traveler. 

"There  is  no  need  to  discuss  this  affair,"  said  Fendant, 
addressing  Lucien  and  Lousteau.  "  I  have  read  the  work,  it 
is  very  literary,  and  so  exactly  the  kind  of  thing  we  want, 
that  I  have  sent  it  off"  as  it  is  to  the  printer.  The  agreement 
is  drawn  on  the  lines  laid  down,  and,  beside,  we  always  make 
the  same  stipulations  in  all  cases.  The  bills  fall  due  in  six, 
nine,  and  twelve  months  respectively ;  you  will  meet  with  no 
difficulty  in  discounting  them,  and  we  will  refund  you  the 
discount.  We  have  reserved  the  right  of  giving  a  new  title 
to  the  book.  We  don't  care  for  'The  Archer  of  Charles  IX.  \ ' 
it  does  not  tickle  the  reader's  curiosity  sufficiently;  there 
were  several  kings  of  that  name,  you  see,  and  there  were  so 
many  archers  in  the  Middle  Ages.     If  you  had  only  called  it 


296  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

*The  Soldier  of  Napoleon,'  now!  But  'The  Archer  of 
Charles  IX.  ! '  why,  Cavalier  would  have  to  give  a  course  of 
history  lessons  before  he  could  place  a  copy  anywhere  in  the 
provinces." 

"If  you  but  knew  the  class  of  people  that  we  have  to  do 
with  !  "  exclaimed  Cavalier. 

'*  'Saint  Bartholomew '  would  suit  better,"  continued  Fen- 
dant. 

**  *  Catherine  de  Medici,  or  France  under  Charles  IX.,' 
would  sound  more  like  one  of  Scott's  novels,"  added  Cav- 
alier. 

"We  will  settle  it  when  the  work  is  printed,"  said  Fen- 
dant. 

"Do  as  you  please,  so  long  as  I  approve  your  title,"  said 
Luc  i  en. 

The  agreement  was  read  over,  signed  in  duplicate,  and  each 
of  the  contracting  parties  took  their  copy.  Lucien  put  the 
bills  in  his  pocket  with  unequaled  satisfaction,  and  the  four 
repaired  to  Fendant's  abode,  where  they  breakfasted  on  beef- 
steaks and  oysters,  kindeys  in  champagne,  and  Brie  cheese ; 
but  if  the  fare  was  something  of  the  homeliest,  the  wines  were 
exquisite;  Cavalier  had  an  acquaintance  a  traveler  in  the 
wine  trade.  Just  as  they  sat  down  to  table  the  printer  ap- 
peared, to  Lucien's  surprise,  with  the  first  two  proof-sheets. 

"We  want  to  get  on  with  it,"  Fendant  said;  "we  are 
counting  on  your  book;  we  want  a  success  confoundedly 
badly." 

The  breakfast,  begun  at  noon,  lasted  till  five  o'clock. 

"  Where  shall  we  get  cash  for  these  things?  "  asked  Lucien 
as  they  came  away,  somewhat  heated  and  flushed  with  the 
wine. 

"  We  might  try  Barbet,"  suggested  l^tienne,  and  they  turned 
down  to  the  Quai  des  Augustins. 

"  Coralie  is  astonished  to  the  highest  degree  over  Florine's 
loss.     Florine  only  told  her  about  it  yesterday ;  she  seemed 


AJ>ROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  299 

to  lay  the  blame  of  it  on  you,  and  was  so  vexed  that  she  was 
ready  to  throw  you  over." 

*'  That's  true,"  said  Lousteau.  Wine  had  gotten  the  better 
of  prudence,  and  he  unbosomed  himself  to  Lucien,  ending 
up  with :  *'  My  friend — for  you  are  my  friend,  Lucien  ;  you 
lent  me  a  thousand  francs,  and  you  have  only  once  asked  me 
for  the  money — shun  play  !  If  I  had  never  touched  a  card, 
I  should  be  a  happy  man.  I  owe  money  all  around.  At  this 
moment  I  have  the  bailiffs  at  my  heels ;  indeed,  when  I  go  to 
the  Palais  Royal  I  have  dangerous  capes  to  double." 

In  the  language  of  the  fast  set,  doubling  a  rape  meant 
dodging  a  creditor  or  keeping  out  of  his  way.  Lucien  had 
not  heard  the  expression  before,  but  he  was  familiar  with  the 
practice  by  this  time. 

**  Are  your  debts  so  heavy  ?  " 

*'A  mere  trifle,"  said  Lousteau.  "A  thousand  crowns 
would  pull  me  through.  I  have  resolved  to  turn  steady  and 
give  up  play,  and  I  have  don*',  a  little  *  chantage  '  to  pay  my 
debts." 

"  What  is  *  chantage?'  "  asked  Lucien. 

**  It  is  an  English  invention  recently  imported.  A'chan- 
teur '  is  a  man  who  can  manage  to  put  a  paragraph  in  the 
papers — never  art  editor  nor  a  responsible  man,  for  they  are 
not  supposed  to  know  anything  about  it,  and  there  is  always  a 
Giroudeau  or  a  Philippe  Bridau  to  be  found.  A  bravo  of  this 
stamp  finds  up  somebody  who  has  his  own  reasons  for  not 
wanting  to  be  talked  about.  Plenty  of  people  have  a  few 
peccadilloes,  or  some  more  or  less  original  sin,  upon  their 
consciences ;  there  are  plenty  of  fortunes  made  in  ways  that 
would  not  bear  looking  into ;  sometimes  a  man  has  kept  the 
letter  of  the  law  and  sometimes  he  has  not ;  and,  in  either 
case,  there  is  a  tidbit  of  tattle  for  the  inquirer,  as,  for  instance, 
that  tale  of  Fouche's  police  surrounding  the  spies  of  the  pre- 
fect of  police,  who,  not  being  in  the  secret  of  the  fabrication 
of  forged  English  banknotes,  were  just  about  to  pounce  on 


300  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

the  clandestine  printers  employed  by  the  minister ;  or  there  is 
the  story  of  Prince  Galathionne's  diamonds,  the  Maubreuil 
aifair,  or  the  Pombreton  will  case.  The  *  chanteur  '  gets  pos- 
session of  some  compromising  letter,  asks  for  an  interview; 
and  if  the  man  that  made  the  money  does  not  buy  silence,  the 
*  chanteur '  draws  a  picture  of  the  press  ready  to  take  the 
matter  up  and  unravel  his  private  affairs.  The  rich  man  is 
frightened,  he  comes  down  with  the  money,  and  the  trick 
succeeds. 

"You  are  committed  to  some  risky  venture,  which  might 
easily  be  written  down  in  a  series  of  articles ;  a  *  chan- 
teur *  waits  upon  you  and  offers  to  withdraw  the  articles 
— for  a  consideration.  *  Chanteurs '  are  sent  to  men  in 
office,  who  will  bargain  that  their  acts  and  not  their  private 
characters  are  to  be  attacked,  or  they  are  heedless  of  their 
characters  and  anxious  only  to  shield  the  woman  they  love. 
One  of  your  acquaintances,  that  charming  master  of  requests, 
des  Lupeaulx,  is  a  kind  of  agent  for  affairs  of  this  sort.  The 
rascal  has  made  a  position  for  himself  in  the  most  marvelous 
way  in  the  very  centre  of  power ;  he  is  the  middleman  of  the 
press  and  the  ambassador  of  the  ministers ;  he  works  upon  a 
man's  self-love ;  he  bribes  newspapers  to  pass  over  a  loan  in 
silence,  or  to  make  no  comment  on  a  contract  which  was 
never  put  up  for  public  tender,  and  the  jackals  of  Liberal 
bankers  get  a  share  out  of  it.  That  was  a  bit  of  *  chantage ' 
that  you  did  with  Dauriat ;  he  gave  you  a  thousand  crowns  to 
let  Nathan  alone.  In  the  eighteenth  century,  when  journalism 
was  still  in  its  infancy,  this  kind  of  blackmail  was  levied  by 
pamphleteers  in  the  pay  of  favorites  and  great  lords.  The 
original  inventor  was  Pietro  Aretino,  a  great  Italian.  Kings 
went  in  fear  of  him,  as  stage-players  go  in  fear  of  a  news- 
paper to-day." 

**  What  did  you  do  to  the  Matifat  to  make  the  thousand 
crowns?" 

*'  I  attacked  Florine  in  half  a  dozen  papers.     Florine  com- 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  301 

plained  to  Matifa!.  Matifat  went  to  Braulard  to  find  out 
what  the  attacks  meant.  I  did  my  '  chantage '  for  Finot's 
benefit,  and  Finot  put  Braulard  on  the  wrong  scent ;  Braulard 
told  the  man  of  drugs  that  you  were  demolishing  Florine  in 
Coralie's  interest.  Then  Giroudeau  went  round  to  Matifat 
and  told  him  (in  confidence)  that  the  whole  business  could  be 
accommodated  if  he  (Matifat)  would  consent  to  sell  his  sixth 
share  of  Finot's  review  for  ten  thousand  francs.  Finot  was 
to  give  me  a  thousand  crowns  if  the  dodge  succeeded.  Well, 
Matifat  was  only  too  glad  to  get  back  ten  thousand  francs  out 
of  the  thirty  thousand  invested  in  a  risky  speculation,  as  he 
thought,  for  Florine  had  been  telling  him  for  several  days  past 
that  Finot's  review  was  doing  badly ;  and,  instead  of  paying 
a  dividend,  something  was  said  of  calling  up  more  capital. 
So  Matifat  was  just  about  to  close  with  the  offer,  when  the 
manager  of  the  Panorama-Dramatique  comes  to  him  with 
some  accommodation  bills  that  he  wanted  to  negotiate  before 
filing  his  schedule.  To  induce  Matifat  to  take  them  of  him, 
he  let  out  a  word  of  Finot's  trick.  Matifat,  being  a  shrewd 
man  of  business,  took  the  hint,  held  tight  to  his  sixth,  and  is 
laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  us.  Finot  and  I  are  howling  with 
despair.  We  have  been  so  misguided  as  to  attack  a  man  who 
has  no  affection  for  his  mistress,  a  heartless,  soulless  wretch. 
Unluckily,  too,  for  us,  Matifat's  business  is  not  amenable  to 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  press,  and  he  cannot  be  made  to  smart 
for  it  through  his  interests.  A  druggist  is  not  like  a  hatter  or 
a  milliner,  or  a  theatre  or  a  work  of  art ;  he  is  above  criti- 
cism ;  you  can't  run  down  his  opium  and  dyewoods,  nor 
cocoa-beans,  paint,  and  pepper.  Florine  is  at  her  wits'  end  j 
the  Panorama  closes  to-morrow,  and  what  will  become  of  her 
she  does  not  know." 

**  Coralie's  engagement  at  the  Gymnase  begins  in  a  few 
days,"  said  Lucien  ;  **  she  might  do  something  for  Florine." 

"Not  she!  "  said  Lousteau.  "Coralie  is  not  clever,  but 
she  is  not  quite  simple  enough  to  help  herself  to  a  rival.     We 


302  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

are  in  a  mess  with  a  vengeance.     And  Finot  is  in  such  a 
hurry  to  buy  back  his  sixth " 

"Why?" 

"It  is  a  capital  bit  of  business,  my  dear  fellow.  There  is 
a  chance  of  selling  the  paper  for  three  hundred  thousand 
francs ;  Finot  would  have  one-third,  and  his  partners  beside 
are  going  to  pay  him  a  commision,  which  he  will  share  with  des 
Lupeaulx,     So  I  propose  to  do  another  turn  of  *  chantage.'" 

"  '  Chantage  '  seems  to  mean  your  money  or  your  life  ?  " 

"It  is  better  than  that,"  said  Lousteau ;  "  it  is  your  money 
or  your  character.  A  short  time  ago  the  proprietor  of  a 
minor  newspaper  was  refused  credit.  The  day  before  yester- 
day it  was  announced  in  his  columns  that  a  gold  repeater  set 
with  diamonds  belonging  to  a  certain  notability  had  found 
its  way  in  a  curious  fashion  into  the  hands  of  a  private  sol- 
dier in  the  Guards ;  the  story  promised  to  the  readers  might 
have  come  from  the  'Arabian  Nights.'  The  notability  lost  no 
time  in  asking  that  editor  to  dine  with  him  ;  the  editor  was  dis- 
tinctly a  gainer  by  the  transaction,  and  contemporary  history 
has  lost  an  anecdote.  Whenever  the  press  makes  vehement 
onslaughts  upon  some  one  in  power,  you  may  be  sure  that 
there  is  some  refusal  to  do  a  service  behind  it.  Blackmailing 
with  regard  to  private  life  is  the  terror  of  the  richest  English- 
man and  a  great  source  of  wealth  to  the  press  in  England, 
which  is  infinitely  more  corrupt  than  ours.  We  are  children  in 
comparison  !  In  England  they  will  pay  five  or  six  thousand 
francs  for  a  compromising  letter  to  sell  again." 

"  Then  how  can  you  lay  hold  of  Matifat  ?  "  asked  Lucien. 

**  My  dear  boy,  that  low  tradesman  wrote  the  queerest  letters 
to  Florine ;  the  spelling,  style,  and  matter  of  them  is  ludicrous 
to  the  last  degree.  We  can  strike  him  in  the  very  midst  of 
his  Lares  and  Penates,  where  he  feels  himself  safest,  without 
so  much  as  mentioning  his  name ;  and  he  cannot  complain, 
for  he  lives  in  fear  and  terror  of  his  wife.  Imagine  his  wrath 
when  he  sees  the  first  number  of  a  little  serial  entitled  the 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  303 

'Amours  of  a  Drtrggist,'  and  is  given  fair  warning  that  his 
love-letters  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  certain  journalists. 
He  talks  about  the  'little  god  Cupid,'  he  tells  Florine  that 
she  enables  him  to  cross  the  desert  of  life  (which  looks  as  if 
he  took  her  for  a  camel),  and  spells  *  never  *  with  two  v's. 
There  is  enough  in  that  immensely  funny  correspondence  to 
bring  an  influx  of  subscribers  for  a  fortnight.  He  will  shake 
in  his  shoes  lest  an  anonymous  letter  should  supply  his  wife 
with  a  key  to  the  riddle.  The  question  is  whether  Florine 
will  consent  to  appear  to  persecute  Matifat,  She  has  some 
principles,  which  is  to  say,  some  hopes,  still  left.  Perhaps 
she  means  to  keep  the  letters  and  to  make  something  for  her- 
self out  of  them.  She  is  cunning,  as  befits  my  pupil.  But  as 
soon  as  she  finds  out  that  a  bailiff  is  no  laughing  matter,  or 
Finot  gives  her  a  suitable  present  or  hopes  of  an  engagement, 
she  will  give  me  the  letters  and  I  shall  sell  them  to  Finot. 
Finot  will  put  the  correspondence  in  his  uncle's  hands,  and 
Giroudeau  will  bring  Matifat  to  terms." 

These  confidences  sobered  Lucien.  His  first  thought  was 
that  he  had  some  extremely  dangerous  friends ;  his  second, 
that  it  would  be  impolitic  to  break  with  them ;  for  if  Mme. 
d'Espard,  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  and  Chitelet  should  fail  to  keep 
their  word  with  him,  he  might  need  their  terrible  power  yet. 
By  this  time  Etienne  and  Lucien  had  reached  Barbet's  miser- 
able bookshop  on  the  quai.     Etienne  addressed  Barbet — 

"  We  have  five  thousand  francs'  worth  of  bills  at  six,  nine, 
and  twelve  months,  given  by  Fendant  and  Cavalier.  Are  you 
willing  to  discount  them  for  us?" 

"  I  will  give  you  three  thousand  francs  for  them,"  said  Bar- 
bet  with  imperturbable  coolness. 

"Three  thousand  francs  !  "  echoed  Lucien. 

"Nobody  else  will  give  you  as  much,"  rejoined  the  book- 
seller. "  The  firm  will  go  bankrupt  before  three  months  are 
out ;  but  I  happen  to  know  that  they  have  some  good  books 
that  are  hanging  on  hand  j  they  cannot  afford  to  wait,  so  I 


S04  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

shall  buy  their  stock  for  cash  and  pay  them  with  their  own 
bills,  and  get  the  books  at  a  reduction  of  two  thousand  francs. 
That's  how  it  is." 

**  Do  you  mind  losing  a  couple  of  thousand  francs,  Lucien  ?' ' 
asked  Lousteau. 

"  Yes  !  "  Lucien  answered  vehemently.  He  was  dismayed 
by  this  first  rebuff. 

"  You  are  making  a  mistake,"  said  Etienne. 

"  You  won't  find  any  one  that  will  take  their  paper,"  said 
Barbet.  "Your  book  is  their  last  stake,  sir.  The  printer 
will  not  trust  them ;  they  are  obliged  to  leave  the  copies  in 
pawn  with  him.  If  they  make  a  hit  now,  it  will  only  stave 
off  bankruptcy  for  another  six  months,  sooner  or  later  they 
will  have  to  go.  They  are  cleverer  at  tippling  than  at  book- 
selling. In  my  own  case,  their  bills  mean  business ;  and  that 
being  so,  I  can  afford  to  give  more  than  a  professional  dis- 
counter who  simply  looks  at  the  signatures.  It  is  a  bill- 
discounter's  business  to  know  whether  three  names  on  a  bill 
are  each  good  for  thirty  per  cent,  in  case  of  bankruptcy.  And 
here  at  the  outset  you  only  offer  two  signatures,  and  neither 
of  them  worth  ten  per  cent." 

The  two  journalists  exchanged  glances  in  surprise.  Here 
was  a  little  scrub  of  a  bookseller  putting  the  essence  of  the  art 
and  mystery  of  bill-discounting  in  these  few  words. 

**That  will  do,  Barbet,"  said  Lousteau.  "  Can  you  tell  us 
of  a  bill-broker  that  will  look  at  us  ?  " 

"There  is  Daddy  Chaboisseau,  on  the  Quai  Saint-Michel, 
you  know.  He  tided  Fendant  over  his  last  monthly  settle- 
ment. If  you  won't  listen  to  my  offer,  you  might  go  and 
see  what  he  says  to  you ;  but  you  would  only  come  back  to 
me,  and  then  I  shall  offer  you  two  thousand  francs  instead  of 
three." 

Etienne  and  Lucien  betook  themselves  to  the  Quai  Saint- 
Michel  and  found  Chaboisseau  in  a  little  house  with  a  passage 
entry.     Chaboisseau,  a  bill-discounter,  whose  dealings  were 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  305 

principally  with  the  Dooktrade,  lived  in  a  third-floor  lodging 
furnished  in  the  most  eccentric  manner.  A  brevet-rank 
banker  and  a  millionaire  to  boot,  he  had  a  taste  for  the 
classical  style.  The  cornice  was  in  the  classical  style ;  the 
bedstead,  in  the  purest  classical  taste,  dated  from  the  time  of 
the  empire,  when  such  things  were  in  fashion ;  the  purple 
hangings  fell  over  the  wall  like  the  classic  draperies  in  the 
background  of  one  of  David's  pictures.  Chairs  and  tables, 
lamps  and  sconces,  and  every  least  detail  had  evidently  been 
sought  with  patient  care  in  furniture  warehouses.  There  was 
the  elegance  of  antiquity  about  the  classic  revival  as  well  as  its 
fragile  and  somewhat  arid  grace.  The  man  himself,  like  his 
manner  of  life,  was  in  grotesque  contrast  with  the  airy  mytho- 
logical look  of  his  rooms ;  and  it  may  be  remarked  that  the 
most  eccentric  characters  are  found  among  men  who  give  their 
whole  energies  to  money-making. 

Men  of  this  stamp  are,  in  a  certain  sense,  intellectual  liber- 
tines. Everything  is  within  their  reach,  consequently  their 
fancy  is  jaded,  and  they  will  make  immense  efforts  to  shake 
off  their  indifference.  The  student  of  human  nature  can  al- 
ways discover  some  hobby,  some  accessible  weakness  and 
sensitive  spot  in  their  hearts.  Chaboisseau  might  have  in- 
trenched himself  in  antiquity  as  in  an  impregnable  and  fortified 
camp. 

"The  man  will  be  an  antique  to  match,  no  doubt,"  said 
Etienne,  smiling. 

Chaboisseau,  a  little  old  person  with  powdered  hair,  wore  a 
greenish  coat  and  snuff-brown  waistcoat;  he  was  tricked  out 
beside  in  black  small-clothes,  ribbed  stockings,  and  shoes  that 
creaked  as  he  came  forward  to  take  the  bills.  After  a  short 
scrutiny,  he  returned  them  to  Lucien  with  a  serious  counte- 
nance. 

"  Messieurs   Fendant   and   Cavalier   are  delightful   young 
fellows ;    they   have   plenty  of  intelligence ;   but  I  have  no 
money,"  he  said  blandly. 
20 


306  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"My  friend  here  would  be  willing  to  meet  you  in  the 
matter  of  discount "  Etienne  began. 

"I  would  not  take  the  bills  on  any  consideration,"  re- 
turned the  little  broker.  The  words  slid  down  upon  Lous- 
teau's  suggestion  like  the  blade  of  the  guillotine  on  a  man's 
neck. 

The  two  friends  withdrew ;  but  as  Chaboisseau  went  pru- 
dently out  with  them  across  the  antechamber,  Lucien  noticed 
a  pile  of  second-hand  books.  Chaboisseau  had  been  in  the 
trade,  and  this  was  a  recent  purchase.  Shining  conspicuous 
among  them,  he  noticed  a  copy  of  a  work  by  the  architect 
Ducerceau,  which  gives  exceedingly  accurate  plans  of  various 
royal  palaces  and  chateaux  in  France. 

"  Could  you  let  me  have  that  book?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Chaboisseau,  transformed  into  a  bookseller. 

"How  much?" 

"Fifty  francs." 

"It  is  dear,  but  I  want  it.  And  I  can  only  pay  you  with 
one  of  the  bills  which  you  refuse  to  take." 

"You  have  a  bill  there  for  five  hundred  francs  at  six 
months;  I  will  take  that  one  of  you,"  said  Chaboisseau. 

Apparently  at  the  last  statement  of  accounts,  there  had 
been  a  balance  of  five  hundred  francs  in  favor  of  Fendant 
and  Cavalier. 

They  went  back  to  the  classical  apartment.  Chaboisseau 
made  out  a  little  memorandum,  interest  so  much  and  com- 
mission so  much,  total  deduction  thirty  francs,  then  he  sub- 
tracted fifty  francs  for  Ducerceau's  book ;  finally,  from  a  cash- 
box  full  of  coin,  he  took  four  hundred  and  twenty  francs. 

"Look  here,  though,  Monsieur  Chaboisseau,  the  bills  are 
either  all  of  them  good  or  all  bad  alike  ;  why  don't  you  take 
the  rest?" 

"This  is  not  discounting;  I  am  paying  myself  for  a  sale," 
said  the  old  man. 

Etienne  and  Lucien  were  still  laughing  at  Chaboisseau, 


A  J>ROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  tUtl 

without  understanding  him,  when  they  reached  Dauriat's 
shop,  and  Etienue  asked  Gabusson  to  give  them  the  name  of 
a  bill-broker.  Gabusson  thus  appealed  to  gave  them  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  a  broker  in  the  Boulevard  Poissonniere, 
telling  them  at  the  same  time  that  this  was  the  "  oddest  and 
queerest  party"  (to  use  his  own  expression)  that  he,  Gabusson, 
had  come  across.  The  friends  took  a  cab  by  the  hour,  and 
went  to  the  address. 

"If  Samanon  won't  take  your  bills,"  Gabusson  had  said, 
"  nobody  else  will  look  at  them." 

A  second-hand  bookseller  on  the  first  floor,  a  second-hand 
clothes-dealer  on  the  second  floor,  and  a  seller  of  indecent 
prints  on  the  third,  Samanon  carried  on  a  fourth  business — 
he  was  a  money-lender  into  the  bargain.  No  character  in 
Hoffmann's  romances,  no  sinister-brooding  miser  of  Scott's, 
can  compare  with  this  freak  of  human  and  Parisian  nature 
(always  admitting  that  Samanon  was  human).  In  spite  of 
himself,  Lucien  shuddered  at  the  sight  of  the  dried-up  little 
old  creature,  whose  bones  seemed  to  be  cutting  a  leather  skin, 
spotted  with  all  sorts  of  little  green  and  yellow  patches,  like  a 
portrait  by  Titian  or  Veronese  when  you  look  at  it  closely. 
One  of  Samanon's  eyes  was  fixed  and  glassy,  the  other  lively 
and  bright ;  he  seemed  to  keep  that  dead  eye  for  the  bill-dis- 
counting part  of  his  profession,  and  the  other  for  the  trade  in 
the  pornographic  curiosities  upstairs.  A  few  stray  white  hairs, 
escaping  from  under  a  small,  sleek,  rusty  black  wig,  stood 
erect  above  a  sallow  forehead  with  a  suggestion  of  menace 
about  it ;  a  hollow  trench  in  either  cheek  defined  the  outline 
of  the  jaws ;  while  a  set  of  projecting  teeth,  still  white,  seemed 
to  stretch  the  skin  of  the  lips  with  the  eff"ect  of  an  equine 
yawn.  The  contrast  between  the  ill-assorted  eyes  and  grin- 
ning mouth  gave  Samanon  a  passably  ferocious  air ;  and  the 
very  bristles  on  the  man's  chin  looked  stiff  and  sharp  as  pins. 

Nor  was  there  the  slightest  sign  about  him  of  any  desire  to 
redeem  a  sinister  appearance  by  attention  to  the  toilet ;  his 


308  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

threadbare  jacket  was  all  but  dropping  to  pieces ;  a  cravat, 
which  had  once  been  black,  was  frayed  by  contact  with  a 
stubble  chin,  and  left  on  exhibition  a  throat  as  wrinkled  as  a 
turkey-gobbler's. 

This  was  the  individual  whom  Etienne  and  Lucien  discov- 
ered in  his  filthy  counting-house,  busily  affixing  tickets  to  the 
backs  of  a  parcel  of  books  from  a  recent  sale.  In  a  glance, 
the  friends  exchanged  the  innumerable  questions  raised  by 
the  existence  of  such  a  creature ;  then  they  presented  Gabus- 
son's  introduction  and  Fendant  and  Cavalier's  bills.  Samanon 
was  still  reading  the  note  when  a  third-comer  entered,  the 
wearer  of  a  short  jacket,  which  seemed  in  the  dimly  lighted 
shop  to  be  cut  out  of  a  piece  of  zinc  roofing,  so  solid  was  it 
by  reason  of  alloy  with  all  kinds  of  foreign  matter.  Oddly 
attired  as  he  was,  the  man  was  an  artist  of  no  small  intel- 
lectual power,  and  ten  years  later  he  was  destined  to  assist  in 
the  inauguration  of  the  great,  but  ill-founded,  Saint-Simonian 
system.* 

**I  want  my  coat,  my  black  trousers,  and  satin  waistcoat," 
said  this  person,  pressing  a  numbered  ticket  on  Samanon's 
attention.  Samanon  touched  the  brass  button  of  a  bell- 
pull,  and  a  woman  came  down  from  some  upper  region, 
a  Normande  apparently,  to  judge  by  her  rich,  fresh  com- 
plexion. 

"Let  the  gentleman  have  his  clothes,"  said  Samanon, 
holding  out  a  hand  to  the  new-comer.  "  It's  a  pleasure 
to  do  business  with  you,  sir;  but  that  youngster  whom 
one  of  your  friends  introduced  to  me  took  me  in  most 
abominably." 

"  Took  ^z>«  in!"  chuckled  the  new-comer,  pointing  out 
Samanon  to  the  two  journalists  with  an  extremely  comical 
gesture.  The  great  man  dropped  thirty  sous  into  the  money- 
lender's yellow,  wrinkled  hand ;  like  the  Neapolitan's  lazza- 
roni  (beggars),  he  was  taking  his  best  clothes  out  of  pawn 

*  A  kind  of  communism. 


A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  309 

for  a  state  occasion.  The  coins  dropped  jingling  into  the 
till. 

"What  queer  business  are  you  up  to?"  asked  Lousteau 
of  the  artist,  an  opium-eater  who  dwelt  among  visions  of 
enchanted  palaces  till  he  either  could  not  or  would  not 
create. 

"  He  lends  you  a  good  deal  more  than  an  ordinary  pawn- 
broker on  anything  you  pledge ;  and,  beside,  he  is  so  awfully 
charitable,  he  allows  you  to  take  your  clothes  out  when  you 
must  have  something  to  wear.  I  am  going  to  dine  with  the 
Kellers  and  ray  mistress  to-night,"  he  continued  ;  "and  to 
me  it  is  easier  to  find  thirty  sous  than  two  hundred  francs,  so 
I  keep  my  wardrobe  here.  It  has  brought  the  charitable 
usurer  a  hundred  francs  in  the  last  six  months.  Samanon  has 
devoured  my  library  already,  volume  by  volume ' '  (Jivre  a 
livre). 

"  And  sou  by  sou,"  Lousteau  said  with  a  laugh. 

"I  will  let  you  have  fifteen  hundred  francs,"  said  Sama- 
non, looking  up. 

Lucien  started,  as  if  the  bill-broker  had  thrust  a  red-hot 
skewer  through  his  heart.  Samanon  was  subjecting  the  bills 
and  their  dates  to  a  close  scrutiny. 

"  And  even  then,"  he  added,  "I  must  see  Fendant  first. 
He  ought  to  deposit  some  books  with  me.  You  aren't  worth 
much  "  (turning  to  Lucien);  "you  are  living  with  Coralie, 
and  your  furniture  has  been  attached." 

Lousteau,  watching  Lucien,  saw  him  take  up  his  bills,  and 
dash  out  into  the  street.  "He  is  the  devil  himself!"  ex- 
claimed the  poet.  For  several  seconds  he  stood  outside 
gazing  at  the  shop-front.  The  whole  place  was  so  pitiful 
that  a  passer-by  could  not  see  it  without  smiling  at  the  sight, 
and  wondering  what  kind  of  business  a  man  could  do  among 
those  mean,  dirty  shelves  of  ticketed  books. 

A  few  moments  later,  the  great  man,  in  incognito,  came 
out,  very  well  dressed,  smiled  at  the  friends,  and  turned  to  go 


310  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

with  them  in  the  direction  of  the  Passage  des  Panoramas, 
where  he  meant  to  complete  his  toilet  by  the  polishing  of  his 
shoes. 

"  If  you  see  Samanon  in  a  bookseller's  shop,  or  calling  on 
a  paper-merchant  or  a  printer,  you  may  know  that  it  is  all 
over  with  that  man,"  said  the  artist.  *'  Samanon  is  the  un- 
dertaker come  to  take  the  measurements  for  a  coffin." 

"  You  won't  discount  your  bills  now,  Lucien,"  said  Etienne. 

"  If  Samanon  will  not  take  them,  nobody  else  will ;  he  is 
the  ultima  ratio, ^^  said  the  stranger.  "  He  is  one  of  Gigon- 
net's  lambs,  a  spy  for  Palma,  Werbrust,  Gobseck,  and  the  rest 
of  those  crocodiles  who  swim  in  the  Paris  money-market. 
Every  man  with  a  fortune  to  make,  or  unmake,  is  sure  to 
come  across  one  of  them  sooner  or  later." 

"If  you  cannot  discount  your  bills  at  fifty  per  cent.,"  re- 
marked Lousteau,  "you  must  exchange  them  for  hard  cash." 

"How?" 

"  Give  them  to  Coralie ;  Camusot  will  cash  them  for  her. 
You  are  disgusted,"  added  Lousteau,  as  Lucien  cut  him  short 
with  a  start.  "What  nonsense!  How  can  you  allow  such 
a  silly  scruple  to  turn  the  scale,  when  your  future  is  in  the 
balance?" 

"I  shall  take  this  money  to  Coralie  in  any  case,"  began 
Lucien. 

"Here  is  more  folly!  "  cried  Lousteau.  "You  will  not 
keep  your  creditors  quiet  with  four  hundred  francs  when  you 
must  have  four  thousand.  Let  us  keep  a  little  and  get  drunk 
on  it,  if  we  lose  the  rest  at  rouge  et  noir^ 

"  That  is  sound  advice,"  said  the  great  man. 

Those  words,  spoken  not  four  paCes  from  Frascati's,  were 
magnetic  in  their  effect.  The  friends  dismissed  their  cab  and 
went  up  to  the  gaming-table. 

At  the  outset  they  won  three  thousand  francs,  then  they 
lost  and  fell  to  five  hundred  ;  again  they  won  three  thousand 
seven  hundred  francs,  and  again  they  lost  all  but  a  five-franc 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  311 

<• 

piece.     After  another  turn  of  luck  they  staked  two  thousand 

francs  on  an  even  number  to  double  the  stake  at  a  stroke ;  an 
even  number  had  not  turned  up  for  five  times  in  succession, 
and  this  was  the  sixth  time.  They  punted  the  whole  sum, 
and  an  odd  number  turned  up  once  more. 

After  two  hours  of  all-absorbing,  frenzied  excitement,  the 
two  dashed  down  the  staircase  with  the  hundred  francs  kept 
back  for  the  dinner.  Upon  the  steps,  between  the  two  pillars 
which  support  the  little  sheet-iron  verandah  to  which  so  many 
eyes  have  been  upturned  in  longing  or  despair,  Lousteau 
stopped  and  looked  into  Lucien's  flushed,  inflamed,  and 
excited  face. 

**  Let  us  just  try  fifty  francs,"  he  said. 

And  up  the  stairs  again  they  went.  An  hour  later  they 
owned  a  thousand  crowns.  Black  had  turned  up  for  the  fifth 
consecutive  time ;  they  trusted  that  their  previous  luck  would 
not  repeat  itself,  and  put  the  whole  sum  on  the  red — black 
turned  up  for  the  sixth  time.  They  had  lost.  It  was  now 
six  o'clock. 

**  Let  us  just  try  twenty-five  francs,"  said  Lucien. 

The  new  venture  was  soon  made — and  lost.  The  twenty- 
five  francs  went  in  five  stakes.  Then  Lucien,  in  a  frenzy, 
flung  down  his  last  twenty-five  francs  on  the  number  of  his 
age,  and  won.  No  words  can  describe  how  his  hands  trem- 
bled as  he  raked  in  the  coins  which  the  bank  paid  him  one 
by  one.     He  handed  ten  louis  to  Lousteau. 

"  Fly  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  take  it  to  Very's." 

Lousteau  took  the  hint  and  went  to  order  dinner.  Lucien, 
left  alone,  laid  his  thirty  louis  on  the  red  and  won.  Embold- 
ened by  the  inner  voice  which  a  gambler  always  hears,  he 
staked  the  whole  again  on  the  red,  and  again  he  won.  He 
felt  as  if  there  was  a  furnace  within  him.  Without  heeding 
the  voice,  he  laid  a  hundred  and  twenty  louis  on  the  black 
and  lost.  Then  to  the  torturing  excitement  of  suspense  suc- 
ceeded the  delicious  feeling  of  relief  known  to  the  gambler 


312  A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

who  has  nothing  left  to  lose,  and  must  perforce  leave  the 
palace  of  fire  in  which  his  dreams  melt  and  vanish. 

He  found  Lousteau  at  Very's,  and  flung  himself  upon  the 
cookery  (to  make  use  of  La  Fontaine's  expression),  and 
drowned  his  cares  in  wine.  By  nine  o'clock  his  ideas  were 
so  confused  that  he  could  not  imagine  why  the  portress  in  the 
Rue  de  Vendome  persisted  in  sending  him  to  the  Rue  de  la 
Lune. 

**  Mademoiselle  Coralie  has  gone,"  said  the  woman.  "  She 
has  taken  lodgings  elsewhere.  She  left  her  address  with  me 
on  this  scrap  of  paper." 

Lucien  was  too  far  gone  to  be  surprised  at  anything.  He 
went  back  to  the  cab  which  had  brought  him,  and  was  driven 
to  the  Rue  de  la  Lune,  making  puns  to  himself  on  the  name 
of  the  street  as  he  went. 

The  news  of  the  failure  of  the  Panorama-Dramatique  had 
come  like  a  thunder-clap.  Coralie,  taking  alarm,  made  haste 
to  sell  her  furniture  (with  the  consent  of  her  creditors)  to 
little,  old  Cardot,  who  installed  Florentine  in  the  rooms  at 
once.  The  tradition  of  the  house  remained  unbroken.  Cor- 
alie paid  her  creditors  and  satisfied  the  landlord,  proceeding 
with  her  "washing-day,"  as  she  called  it,  while  Berenice 
bought  the  absolutely  indispensable  necessaries  to  furnish  a 
fourth-floor  lodging  in  the  Rue  de  la  Lune,  a  few  doors  from 
the  Gymnase.  Here  Coralie  was  waiting  for  Lucien's  return. 
She  had  brought  her  love  unsullied  out  of  the  shipwreck  and 
twelve  hundred  francs. 

Lucien,  more  than  half-intoxicated,  poured  out  his  woes  to 
Coralie  and  Berenice. 

"You  did  quite  right,  my  angel,"  said  Coralie,  with  her 
arms  about  his  neck.  "Berenice  can  easily  negotiate  your 
bills  with  Braulard." 

The  next  morning  Lucien  awoke  to  an  enchanted  world  of 
happiness  made  about  him  by  Coralie.  She  was  more  loving 
and  tender  in  these  days  than  she  had  ever  been ;  perhaps  she 


^  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  313 

thought  that  the  wcakh  of  love  in  her  heart  should  make  him 
amends  for  the  poverty  of  their  lodging.  She  looked  bewitch- 
ingly  charming,  with  the  loose  hair  straying  from  under  the 
crushed,  white  silk  handkerchief  about  her  head  ;  there  was 
soft  laughter  in  her  eyes ;  her  words  were  as  bright  as  the  first 
rays  of  sunrise  that  shone  in  through  the  windows,  pouring  a 
flood  of  gold  upon  such  charming  poverty. 

Not  that  the  room  was  squalid.  The  walls  were  covered 
with  a  sea-green  paper,  bordered  with  red ;  there  was  one 
mirror  over  the  chimney-piece  and  a  second  above  the  chest 
of  drawers.  The  bare  boards  were  covered  with  a  cheap 
carpet,  which  Berenice  had  bought  in  spite  of  Coralie's 
orders,  and  paid  for  out  of  her  own  little  store.  A  wardrobe, 
with  a  glass  door  and  a  chest,  held  the  lovers'  clothing,  the 
mahogany  chairs  were  covered  with  blue  cotton  stuff,  and 
Berenice  had  managed  to  save  a  clock  and  a  couple  of  china 
vases  from  the  catastrophe,  as  well  as  four  spoons  and  forks 
and  half-a-dozen  little  spoons.  The  bedroom  was  entered 
from  the  dining-room,  which  might  have  belonged  to  a  clerk 
with  an  income  of  twelve  hundred  francs.  The  kitchen  was 
next  the  landing,  and  Berenice  slept  above  in  an  attic.  The 
rent  was  not  more  than  a  hundred  crowns. 

The  dismal  house  boasted  a  sham  carriage  entrance,  the 
porter's  box  being  contrived  behind  one  of  the  useless  leaves 
of  the  gate  and  lighted  by  a  peephole  through  which  that 
personage  watched  the  comings  and  goings  of  seventeen  fam- 
ilies, for  this  hive  was  a  "good-paying  property,"  in  auction- 
eer's phrase. 

Lucien,  looking  round  the  room,  discovered  a  desk,  an 
easy-chair,  paper,  pens,  and  ink.  The  sight  of  Berenice  in 
high  spirits  (she  was  building  hopes  on  Coralie's  debut  2X  the 
Gymnase),  and  of  Coralie  herself  conning  her  part  with  a 
knot  of  blue  ribbon  tied  about  it,  drove  all  cares  and  anxie- 
ties from  the  sobered  poet's  mind. 

"  So  long  as  nobody  in  society  hears  of  this  sudden  come- 


814  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

down,  we  shall  pull  through,"  he  said.  "After  all,  we  have 
four  thousand  five  hundred  francs  before  us.  I  will  turn  my 
new  position  in  royalist  journalism  to  account.  To-morrow 
we  shall  start  the  '  Reveil ; '  I  am  an  old  hand  now,  and  I 
will  make  something  out." 

And  Coralie,  seeing  nothing  but  love  in  the  words,  kissed 
the  lips  that  uttered  them.  By  this  time  Berenice  had  set  the 
table  near  the  fire  and  served  a  modest  breakfast  of  scrambled 
eggs,  a  couple  of  cutlets,  coffee,  and  cream.  Just  then  there 
came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Lucien,  to  his  astonishment, 
beheld  three  of  the  loyal  friends  of  old  days — d'Arthez,  Leon 
Giraud,  and  Michel  Chrestien.  He  was  deeply  touched,  and 
asked  them  to  share  the  breakfast. 

"No;  we  have  come  on  more  serious  business  than  con- 
dolence," said  d'Arthez;  "we  know  the  whole  story,  we 
have  just  come  from  the  Rue  de  Vendome.  You  know  my 
opinions,  Lucien.  Under  any  other  circumstances  I  should 
be  glad  to  hear  that  you  had  adopted  my  political  convictions; 
but  situated  as  you  are  with  regard  to  the  Liberal  press,  it  is 
impossible  for  you  to  go  over  to  the  Ultras.  Your  life  will  be 
sullied,  your  character  blighted  for  ever.  We  have  come  to 
entreat  you  in  the  name  of  our  friendship,  weakened  though 
it  may  be,  not  to  soil  yourself  in  this  way.  You  have  been 
prominent  in  attacking  the  Romantics,  the  Right,  and  the 
Government ;  you  cannot  now  declare  for  the  Government, 
the  Right,  and  the  Romantics." 

"  My  reasons  for  the  change  are  based  on  lofty  grounds ; 
the  end  will  justify  the  means,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  fully  comprehend  our  position  on  the 
side  of  the  government,"  said  Leon  Giraud.  "  The  govern- 
ment, the  court,  the  Bourbons,  the  absolutist  party,  or,  to  sum 
up  in  a  general  expression,  the  whole  system  opposed  to  the 
constitutional  system,  may  be  divided  upon  the  question  of 
the  best  means  of  extinguishing  the  revolution,  is  unanimous 
as  to  the  advisibility  of  extinguishing  the  newspapers.     The 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  315 

*R6veil,  the  '  Foudre,'  and  the  'Drapeau  Blanc'  have  all 
been  founded  for  the  express  purpose  of  replying  to  the  slander, 
gibes,  and  railing  of  the  Liberal  press.  I  cannot  approve 
them,  for  it  is  precisely  this  failure  to  recognize  the  grandeur 
of  our  priesthood  that  has  led  us  to  bring  out  a  serious  and 
self-respecting  paper;  which  perhaps,"  he  added  parentheti- 
cally, "may  exercise  a  worthy  influence  before  very  long,  and 
win  respect,  and  carry  weight ;  but  this  royalist  artillery  is 
destined  for  a  first  attempt  at  reprisals,  the  Liberals  are  to  be 
paid  back  in  their  own  coin — shaft  for  shaft,  wound  for  wound. 
"What  can  come  of  it,  Lucien?  The  majority  of  news- 
paper readers  incline  for  the  Left ;  and  in  the  press,  as  in  war- 
fare, the  victory  is  with  the  big  battalions.  You  will  be  black- 
guards, liars,  enemies  of  the  people;  the  other  side  will  be 
defenders  of  their  country,  martyrs,  men  to  be  held  in  honor, 
though  they  may  be  even  more  hypocritical  and  slippery  than 
their  opponents.  In  these  ways  the  pernicious  influence  of 
the  press  will  be  increased,  while  the  most  odious  form  of 
journalism  will  receive  sanction.  Insult  and  personalities 
will  have  become  a  recognized  privilege  of  the  press ;  news- 
papers have  taken  this  tone  in  the  subscribers'  interests ;  and 
when  both  sides  have  recourse  to  the  same  weapons,  the  stand- 
ard is  set  and  the  general  tone  of  journalism  taken  for  granted. 
When  the  evil  is  developed  to  its  fullest  extent,  restrictive 
laws  will  be  followed  by  prohibitions  ;  there  will  be  a  return 
of  the  censorship  of  the  press  imposed  after  the  assassination 
of  the  Due  de  Berri,  and  repealed  since  the  opening  of  the 
Chambers.  And  do  you  know  what  the  nation  will  conclude 
from  the  debate  ?  The  people  will  believe  the  insinuations 
of  the  Liberal  press  ;  they  will  think  that  the  Bourbons  mean 
to  attack  the  rights  of  property  acquired  by  the  revolution, 
and  some  fine  day  they  will  rise  and  shake  off  the  Bourbons. 
You  are  not  only  soiling  your  life,  Lucien,  you  are  going  over  to 
the  losing  side.  You  are  too  young,  too  lately  a  journalist,  too 
little  initiated  into  the  secret  springs  of  motive  and  the  tricks 


316  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

of  the  craft,  you  have  aroused  too  much  jealousy,  not  to  fall 
a  victim  to  the  general  hue  and  cry  that  will  be  raised  against 
you  in  the  Liberal  newspapers.  You  will  be  drawn  into  the 
fray  by  party  spirit  now  still  at  fever-heat ;  though  the  fever, 
which  spent  itself  in  violence  in  1815  and  1816,  now  appears 
in  debates  in  the  Chamber  and  polemics  in  the  papers." 

"  I  am  not  quite  a  featherhead,  my  friends,"  said  Lucien, 
*'  though  you  may  choose  to  see  a  poet  in  me.  Whatever  may 
happen,  I  shall  gain  one  solid  advantage  which  no  Liberal 
victory  can  give  me.  By  the  time  your  victory  is  won,  I  shall 
have  gained  my  end." 

**  We  will  cut  off — your  hair,"  said  Michel  Chrestien,  with 
a  laugh. 

"  I  shall  have  children  by  that  time,"  said  Lucien  ;  "and 
if  you  cut  off  ray  head  it  will  not  matter," 

The  three  could  make  nothing  of  Lucien.  Intercourse 
with  the  great  world  had  developed  in  him  the  pride  of  caste, 
the  vanities  of  the  aristocrat.  The  poet  thought,  and  not 
without  reason,  that  there  was  a  fortune  in  his  good  looks  and 
intellect,  accompanied  by  the  name  and  title  of  Rubempr6. 
Mme.  d'Espard  and  Mme.  de  Bargeton  held  him  fast  by  this 
clue,  as  a  child  holds  a  cockroach  by  a  string.  Lucien's  flight 
was  circumscribed.  The  words,  "He  is  one  of  us,  he  is 
sound,"  accidentally  overheard  but  three  days  ago  in  Mile, 
des  Touches'  salon,  had  turned  his  head.  The  Due  de  Lenon- 
court,  the  Due  de  Navarreins,  the  Due  de  Grandlieu,  Ras- 
tignac,  Blondet,  the  lovely  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  the 
Comte  d'Escrignon,  and  des  Lupeaulx,  all  the  most  influ- 
ential people  at  court,  in  fact,  had  congratulated  him  on  his 
conversion,  and  completed  his  intoxication. 

"Then  there  is  no  more  to  be  said,"  d'Arthez  rejoined. 
"You,  of  all  men,  will  find  it  hard  to  keep  clean  hands  and 
self-respect.  I  know  you,  Lucien ;  you  will  feel  it  acutely 
when  you  are  despised  by  the  very  men  to  whom  you  offer 
yourself." 


OHl     NEVER   MIND    THOSE   NINNIES.''   CRIED   CORALIE. 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  317 

The  three  took  leave,  and  not  one  of  them  gave  him  a 
friendly  handshake.  Lucien  was  thoughtful  and  sad  for  a  few 
minutes. 

"Oh  !  never  mind  those  ninnies,"  cried  Coralie,  springing 
upon  his  knee  and  putting  her  beautiful  arms  about  his  neck. 
**  They  take  life  seriously,  and  life  is  a  joke.  Beside,  you  are 
going  to  be  Count  Lucien  de  Rubempre.  I  will  wheedle  the 
Chancellors  if  there  is  no  other  way.  I  know  how  to  come 
round  that  rake  of  a  des  Lupeaulx,  who  will  sign  your  patent. 
Did  I  not  tell  you,  Lucien,  that  at  the  last  you  should  have 
Coralie's  dead  body  for  a  stepping-stone?  " 

Next  day  Lucien  allowed  his  name  to  appear  in  the  list  of 
contributors  to  the  "Reveil."  His  name  was  announced  in 
the  prospectus  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets,  and  the  ministry 
took  care  that  a  hundred  thousand  copies  should  be  scattered 
abroad  far  and  wide.  There  was  a  dinner  at  Robert's,  two 
doors  away  from  Frascati's,  to  celebrate  the  inauguration,  and 
the  whole  band  of  royalist  writers  for  the  press  were  present. 
Martainville  was  there,  and  Auger  and  Destains,  and  a  host 
of  others,  still  living,  who  "did  monarchy  and  religion,"  to  use 
the  familiar  expression  coined  for  them.  Nathan  had  also 
enlisted  under  the  banner,  for  he  was  thinking  of  starting  a 
theatre,  and  not  unreasonably  held  that  it  was  better  to  have 
the  licensing  authorities  for  him  than  against  him. 

"We  will  pay  the  Liberals  out?"  cried  Hector  Merlin 
energetically. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Nathan,  "  if  we  are  for  war,  let  us  have 
war  in  earnest ;  we  must  not  carry  it  on  with  pop-guns.  Let 
us  fall  upon  all  Classicals  and  Liberals  without  distinction  of 
age  or  sex,  and  put  them  all  to  the  sword  with  ridicule.  There 
must  be  no  quarter." 

"We  must  act  honorably;  there  must  be  no  bribing  with 
copies  of  books  or  presents;  no  taking  money  of  publishers. 
We  must  inaugurate  a  restoration  of  journalism." 

"Good!"    said    Martainville.     ''/ustum  et  tanacem  pro- 


318  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PAH  IS. 

positi  virum  /  Let  us  be  implacable  and  virulent.  I  will  give 
out  La  Fayette  for  the  prince  of  harlequins  that  he  is !  "  he 
went  on. 

**  And  I  will  undertake  the  heroes  of  the  *  Constitutionnel,'  " 
added  Lucien;  "Sergeant  Mercier,  Monsieur  Jouy's  Com- 
plete Works,  and  '  the  illustrious  orators  of  the  Left.'  " 

A  war  of  extermination  was  unanimously  resolved  upon, 
and  by  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  all  shades  of  opinion  were 
merged  and  drowned,  together  with  every  glimmer  of  sense, 
in  a  flaming  bowl  of  punch. 

"  We  have  had  a  fine  monarchical  and  religious  jollifica- 
tion," remarked  an  illustrious  reveler  in  the  doorway  as  he 
went. 

That  comment  appeared  in  the  next  day's  issue  of  the 
**Miroir"  through  the  good  offices  of  a  publisher  among 
the  guests,  and  became  historic.  Lucien  was  supposed  to  be 
the  traitor  who  blabbed.  His  defection  gave  the  signal  for  a 
terrific  hubbub  in  the  Liberal  camp ;  Lucien  was  the  butt  of 
the  opposition  newspapers,  and  ridiculed  unmercifully.  The 
whole  history  of  his  sonnets  was  given  to  the  public.  Dauriat 
was  said  to  prefer  a  first  loss  of  a  thousand  crowns  to  the  risk 
of  publishing  the  verses;  Lucien  was  called  "the  Poet  sans 
Sonnets;"  and  one  morning,  in  that  very  paper  in  which  he 
had  so  brilliant  a  beginning,  he  read  the  following  lines, 
significant  enough  for  him,  but  barely  intelligible  to  other 
readers : 

*^*  If  M.  Dauriat'  persistently  withholds  the  Sonnets  of 
the  future  Petrarch  from  publication,  we  will  act  like  generous 
foes.  We  will  open  our  own  columns  to  his  poems,  which 
must  be  piquant  indeed,  to  judge  by  the  following  specimen 
obligingly  communicated  by  a  friend  of  the  author. 

And  close  upon  that  ominous  preface  followed  a  sonnet 
entitled  "The  Thistle"  {le  Chardori)-. 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  81» 

A  chance- come  seedling,  springing  up  one  day 
Among  the  flowers  in  a  garden  fair, 
Made  boast  that  splendid  colors  bright  and  rare 

Its  claims  to  lofty  lineage  should  display. 

So  for  a  while  they  suffered  it  to  stay ; 

But  with  such  insolence  it  flourished  there. 
That,  out  of  patience  with  its  braggart's  air. 

They  bade  it  prove  its  claims  without  delay. 

It  bloomed  forthwith ;  but  ne'er  was  blundering  clown 
Upon  the  boards  more  promptly  hooted  down ; 
The  sister  flowers  began  to  jeer  and  laugh. 

The  owner  flung  it  out.     At  close  of  day 
A  solitary  jackass  came  to  bray — 
A  common  Thistle's  fitting  epitaph. 

Lucien  read  the  words  through  scalding  tears. 

Vernou  touched  elsewhere  on  Lucien's  gambling  propensi- 
ties, and  spoke  of  the  forthcoming  "Archer  of  Charles  IX." 
as  "anti-national"  in  its  tendency,  the  writer  siding  with 
Catholic  cut-throats  against  their  Calvinist  victims. 

Another  week  found  the  quarrel  embittered.  Lucien  had 
counted  upon  his  friend  Etienne;  Etienne  owed  him  a  thou- 
sand francs,  and  there  had  been  beside  a  private  understand' 
ing  between  them ;  but  Etienne  Lousteau  during  the  interval 
became  his  sworn  foe,  and  this  was  the  manner  of  it : 

For  the  past  three  months  Nathan  had  been  smitten  with 
Florine's  charms,  and  much  at  a  loss  how  to  rid  himself  of 
Lousteau  his  rival,  who  was  in  fact  dependent  upon  the 
actress.  And  now  came  Nathan's  opportunity,  when  Florine 
was  frantic  with  distress  over  the  failure  of  the  Panorama- 
Dramatique,  which  left  her  without  an  engagement,  he  went 
as  Lucien's  colleague  to  beg  Coral ie  to  ask  for  a  part  for 
Florine  in  a  play  of  his  which  was  about  to  be  produced  at  the 
Gymnase.  Then  Nathan  went  to  Florine  and  made  capital 
with  her  out  of  the  service  done  by  the  promise  of  a  condi- 


S20  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PAH  IS. 

tional  engagement.  Ambition  had  turned  Florine's  head; 
she  did  not  hesitate.  She  had  had  time  to  gauge  Lousteau 
pretty  thoroughly.  Lousteau's  courses  were  weakening  his 
will,  and  here  was  Nathan  with  his  ambitions  in  politics  and 
literature,  and  energies  strong  as  his  cravings.  Florine  pro- 
posed to  reappear  on  the  stage  with  renewed  eclat,  so  she 
handed  over  Matifat's  correspondence  to  Nathan.  Nathan 
drove  a  bargain  for  them  with  Matifat,  and  took  the  sixth 
share  of  Finot's  review  in  exchange  for  the  compromising 
billets.  After  this,  Florine  was  installed  in  sumptuously 
furnished  apartments  in  the  Rue  Hauteville,  where  she  took 
Nathan  for  her  protector  in  the  face  of  the  theatrical  and 
journalistic  world. 

Lousteau  was  terribly  overcome.  He  wept  (toward  the 
close  of  a  dinner  given  by  his  friends  to  console  him  in  his 
affliction).  In  the  course  of  that  banquet  it  was  decided  that 
Nathan  had  not  acted  unfairly;  several  writers  present — 
Finot  and  Vernou,  for  instance — knew  of  Florine's  fervid 
admiration  for  dramatic  literature;  but  they  all  agreed  that 
Lucien  had  behaved  very  ill  when  he  arranged  that  business 
at  the  Gymnase ;  he  had  indeed  broken  the  most  sacred  laws 
of  friendship.  Party-spirit  and  zeal  to  serve  his  new  friends 
had  led  the  royalist  poet  on  to  sin  beyond  forgiveness. 

**  Nathan  was  carried  away  by  passion,"  pronounced  Bixiou, 
"while  this  'distinguished  provincial,'  as  Blondet  calls  him, 
is  simply  scheming  for  his  own  selfish  ends." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  deep  plots  were  laid  by  all 
parties  alike  to  rid  themselves  of  this  little  upstart  intruder  of 
a  poet  who  wanted  to  eat  everybody  up.  Vernou  bore 
Lucien  a  personal  grudge  and  undertook  to  keep  a  tight  hand 
on  him  ;  and  Finot  declared  that  Lucien  had  betrayed  the 
secret  of  the  combination  against  Matifat,  and  thereby  swin- 
dled him  (Finot)  out  of  fifty  thousand  francs.  Nathan,  act- 
ing on  Florine's  advice,  gained  Finot's  support  by  selling 
"hxva.  the  sixth  share  for  fifteen  thousand  francs,  and  Lousteau 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  321 

consequently  lost  his^commission.  His  thousand  crowns  had 
vanished  away ;  he  could  not  forgive  Lucien  for  this  treacher- 
ous blow  (as  he  supposed  it)  dealt  to  his  interests.  The 
wounds  of  vanity  refuse  to  heal  if  oxide  of  silver  gets  into 
them. 

No  words,  no  amount  of  description,  can  depict  the  wrath 
of  an  author  in  a  paroxysm  of  mortified  vanity,  nor  the 
energy  which  he  discovers  when  stung  by  the  poisoned  darts 
of  sarcasm ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  man  that  is  roused 
to  fighting-fury  by  a  personal  attack  usually  subsides  very 
promptly.  The  more  phlegmatic  race,  who  take  these  things 
quietly,  lay  their  account  with  the  oblivion  which  speedily 
overtakes  the  spiteful  article.  These  are  the  truly  courageous 
men  of  letteis;  and  if  the  weaklings  seem  at  first  to  be  the 
strong  men,  they  cannot  hold  out  for  any  length  of  time. 

During  that  first  fortnight,  while  the  fury  was  upon  him, 
Lucien  poured  a  perfect  hailstorm  of  articles  into  the  royalist 
papers,  in  which  he  shared  the  responsibilities  of  criticism 
with  Hector  Merlin.  He  was  always  in  the  breach,  pounding 
away  with  all  his  might  in  the  "  Reveil,"  backed  up  by 
Martainville,  the  only  one  among  his  associates  who  stood  by 
him  without  an  after-thought.  Martainville  was  not  in  the 
secret  of  certain  understandings  made  and  ratified  amid  after- 
dinner  jokes,  or  at  Dauriat's  in  the  Wooden  Galleries,  or 
behind  the  scenes  at  the  Vaudeville,  when  journalists  of  either 
side  met  on  neutral  ground. 

When  Lucien  went  to  the  green-room  of  the  Vaudeville, 
he  met  with  no  welcome ;  the  men  of  his  own  party  held  out 
a  hand  to  shake,  the  others  cut  him ;  and  all  the  while  Hec- 
tor Merlin  and  Theodore  Gaillard  fraternized  unblushingly 
with  Finot,  Lousteau,  and  Vernou,  and  the  rest  of  the  jour- 
nalists who  were  known  for  "  good  fellows." 

The  green-room  of  the  Vaudeville  in  those  days  was  a  hot- 
bed of  gossip,  as  well  as  a  neutral  ground  where  men  of  every 
shade  of  opinion  could  meet ;  so  much  so  that  the  president 
21 


322  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

of  a  court  of  law,  after  reproving  a  learned  brother  in  a 
certain  council  chamber  for  **  sweeping  the  green-room  with 
his  gown,"  met  the  subject  of  his  strictures,  gown  to  gown, 
in  the  green-room  of  the  Vaudeville.  Loustcau,  in  time, 
shook  hands  again  with  Nathan ;  Finot  came  thither  almost 
every  evening ;  and  Lucien,  whenever  he  could  spare  the 
time,  went  to  the  Vaudeville  to  watch  the  enemies,  who 
showed  no  sign  of  relenting  toward  the  unfortunate  boy. 
They  all  appeared  determined  to  down  him. 

In  the  time  of  the  restoration  party  hatred  was  far  more 
bitter  than  in  our  day.  Intensity  of  feeling  is  diminished  in 
our  high-pressure  age.  The  critic  cuts  a  book  to  pieces  and 
shakes  hands  with  the  author  afterward,  and  the  victim  must 
keep  on  good  terms  with  his  slaughterer,  or  run  the  gantlet 
of  innumerable  jokes  at  his  expense.  If  he  refuses,  he  is 
unsociable,  eaten  up  with  self-love,  he  is  sulky  and  rancorous, 
he  bears  malice,  he  is  a  bad  fellow.  To-day  let  an  author 
receive  a  treacherous  stab  in  the  back,  let  him  avoid  the 
snares  set  for  him  with  base  hypocrisy,  and  endure  the  most 
unhandsome  treatment,  he  must  still  exchange  greetings  with 
his  assassin,  who,  for  that  matter,  claims  the  esteem  and 
friendship  of  his  victim.  Everything  can  be  excused  and 
justified  in  an  age  which  has  transformed  vice  into  virtue  and 
virtue  into  vice.  Good-fellowship  has  come  to  be  the  most 
sacred  of  our  liberties  ;  the  representatives  of  the  most  oppo- 
site opinions  courteously  blunt  the  edge  of  their  words  and 
fence  with  buttoned  foils.  But  in  those  almost  forgotten  days 
the  same  theatre  could  scarcely  hold  certain  Royalist  and 
Liberal  journalists ;  the  most  malignant  provocation  was 
offered,  glances  were  like  pistol-shots,  the  least  spark  pro- 
duced an  explosion  of  quarrel.  Who  has  not  heard  his 
neighbor's  half-smothered  oath  on  the  entrance  of  some  man 
in  the  forefront  of  the  battle  on  the  opposing  side  ?  There 
were  but  the  two  parties — Royalists  and  Liberals,  Classics  and 
Romantics.     You  found  the  same  hatred  masquerading  in 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  323 

either  form,  and  no  longer  wondered  at  the  scaffolds  of  the 
convention. 

Lucien  had  been  a  Liberal  and  a  hot  Voltairean ;  now  he 
was  a  rabid  Royalist  and  a  Romantic.  Martainville,  the  only 
one  among  his  colleagues  who  really  liked  him  and  stood  by 
him  loyally,  was  more  hated  by  the  Liberals  than  any  man  on 
the  Royalist  side,  and  this  fact  drew  down  all  the  hate  of  the 
Liberals  on  Lucien's  head.  Martainville' s  stanch  friendship 
injured  Lucien.  Political  parties  show  scanty  gratitude  to 
outpost  sentinels,  and  leave  leaders  of  forlorn  hopes  to  their 
fate ;  'tis  a  rule  of  warfare,  which  holds  equally  good  in  mat- 
ters political,  to  keep  with  the  main  body  of  the  army  if  you 
mean  to  succeed.  The  spite  of  the  small  Liberal  papers  fast- 
ened at  once  on  the  opportunity  of  coupling  the  two  names, 
and  flung  them  into  each  other's  arms.  Their  friendship, 
real  or  imaginary,  brought  down  upon  them  both  a  series  of 
articles  written  by  pens  dipped  in  gall.  Felicien  Vernou  was 
furious  with  jealousy  of  Lucien's  social  success ;  and  believed, 
like  all  his  old  associates,  in  the  poet's  approaching  elevation. 

The  fiction  of  Lucien's  treason  was  embellished  with  every 
kind  of  aggravating  circumstance ;  he  was  called  Judas  the 
Less,  Martainville  being  Judas  the  Great,  for  Martainville  was 
supposed  (rightly  or  wrongly)  to  have  given  up  the  Bridge  of 
Pecq  to  the  foreign  invaders.  Lucien  said  jestingly  to  des 
Lupeaulx  that  he  himself,  surely,  had  given  up  the  Asses' 
Bridge. 

Lucien's  luxurious  life,  hollow  though  it  was,  and  founded 
on  expectations,  had  estranged  his  friends.  They  could  not 
forgive  him  for  the  carriage  which  he  had  put  down — for 
them  he  was  still  rolling  about  in  it — nor  yet  for  the  splendors 
of  the  Rue  de  Vendome  which  he  had  left.  All  of  them  felt 
instinctively  that  nothing  was  beyond  the  reach  of  this  young 
and  handsome  poet,  with  intellect  enough  and  to  spare ;  they 
themselves  had  trained  him  in  corruption  ;  and,  therefore,  they 
left  no  stone  unturned  to  ruin  him. 


324  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

Some  few  days  before  Coralie's  first  appearance  at  the 
Gymnase,  Lucien  and  Hector  Merlin  went  arm-in-arm  to  the 
Vaudeville.  Merlin  was  scolding  his  friend  for  giving  a  help- 
ing hand  to  Nathan  in  Florine's  affair. 

"  You  then  and  there  made  two  mortal  enemies  of  Lousteau 
and  Nathan,"  he  said.  "I  gave  you  good  advice,  and  you 
took  no  notice  of  it.  You  gave  praise,  you  did  them  a  good 
turn — you  will  be  well  punished  for  your  kindness.  Florine 
and  Coralie  will  never  live  in  peace  on  the  same  stage ;  both 
will  wish  to  be  first.  You  can  only  defend  Coralie  in  our 
papers  ;  and  Nathan  not  only  has  a  pull  as  a  dramatic  author, 
he  can  control  the  dramatic  criticism  in  the  Liberal  news- 
papers.    He  has  been  a  journalist  a  little  longer  than  you  !  " 

The  words  responded  to  Lucien 's  inward  misgivings. 
Neither  Nathan  nor  Gaillard  was  treating  him  with  the  frank- 
ness which  he  had  a  right  to  expect,  but  so  new  a  convert 
could  hardly  complain.  Gaillard  utterly  confounded  Lucien 
by  saying  roundly  that  new-comers  must  give  proofs  of  their 
sincerity  for  some  time  before  their  party  could  trust  them. 
There  was  more  jealousy  than  he  had  imagined  in  the  inner 
circles  of  royalist  and  ministerial  journalism.  The  jealousy 
of  curs  fighting  for  a  bone  is  apt  to  appear  in  the  human 
species  when  there  is  a  loaf  to  divide  ',  there  is  the  same 
growling  and  showing  of  teeth,  the  same  characteristics  come 
out. 

In  every  possible  way  these  writers  of  articles  tried  to  in- 
jure each  other  with  those  in  power;  they  brought  reciprocal 
accusations  of  lukewarm  zeal ;  they  invented  the  most  treach- 
erous ways  of  getting  rid  of  a  rival.  There  had  been  none 
of  this  internecine  warfare  among  the  Liberals  ;  they  were  too 
far  from  power,  too  hopelessly  out  of  favor;  and  Lucien, 
amid  the  inextricable  tangle  of  ambitions,  had  neither  the 
courage  to  draw  sword  and  cut  the  knot  nor  the  patience  to 
unravel  it.  He  could  not  be  the  Beaumarchais,  the  Aretino, 
the  Fr6ron  of  his  epoch;  he  was  not  made  of  such  stuff;  he 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  325 

thought  of  nothing  but  his  own  desire,  the  patent  of  nobility ; 
for  he  saw  clearly  that  for  him  such  a  restoration  meant  a 
wealthy  marriage,  and,  the  title  once  secured,  chance  and  his 
good  looks  would  do  the  rest.  This  was  all  his  plan ;  and 
Etienne  Lousteau,  who  had  confided  so  much  to  him,  knew 
his  secret,  knew  how  to  deal  a  death-blow  to  the  poet  of 
Angoul6me.  That  very  night,  as  Lucien  and  Merlin  went  to 
the  Vaudeville,  Etienne  had  laid  a  terrible  trap  into  which  an 
inexperienced  boy  could  not  but  fall. 

**  Here  is  our  handsome  Lucien,"  said  Finot,  drawing  des 
Lupeaulx  in  the  direction  of  the  poet,  and  shaking  hands 
with  feline  amiability.  "  I  cannot  think  of  another  example 
of  such  rapid  success,"  continued  Finot,  looking  from  des 
Lupeaulx  to  Lucien.  '*  There  are  two  sorts  of  success  in 
Paris :  there  is  a  fortune  in  solid  cash,  which  any  one  can 
amass,  and  there  is  the  intangible  fortune  of  connections,  po- 
sition, or  a  footing  in  certain  circles  inaccessible  for  certain 
persons,  however  rich  they  may  be.    Now  my  friend  here " 

"  Our  friend,"  interposed  des  Lupeaulx,  smiling  blandly. 

"  Our  friend,"  repeated  Finot,  patting  Lucien's  hand,  '*  has 
made  a  brilliant  success  from  this  point  of  view.  Truth  to 
tell,  Lucien  has  more  in  him,  more  gift,  more  wit  than  the 
rest  of  us  that  "envy  him,  and  he  is  enchantingly  handsome 
beside  ;  his  old  friends  cannot  forgive  him  for  his  success — 
they  call  it  luck." 

'*  Luck  of  that  sort  never  comes  to  fools  or  incapables," 
said  des  Lupeaulx.  "  Can  you  call  Bonaparte's  fortune  luck, 
eh  ?  There  were  a  score  of  applicants  for  the  command  of 
the  army  of  Italy,  just  as  there  are  a  hundred  young  men  at 
this  moment  who  would  like  to  have  an  entrance  to  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches'  house ;  people  are  coupling  her  name 
with  yours  already  in  society,  my  dear  boy,"  said  des  Lu- 
peaulx, clapping  Lucien  on  the  shoulder.  "Ah!  you  are  in 
high  favor.  Madame  d'Espard,  Madame  de  Bargeton,  and 
Madame  de  Montcornet  are  wild  about  you.     You  are  going 


326  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

to  Madame  Firraiani's  party  to-night,  are  you  not,  and  to  the 
Duchesse  de  Grandlieu's  rout  to-morrow?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucien. 

**  Allow  me  to  introduce  a  young  banker  to  you,  a  Monsieur 
du  Tillet ;  you  ought  to  be  acquainted,  he  has  contrived  to 
make  a  great  fortune  in  a  short  time." 

Lucien  and  du  Tillet  bowed,  and  entered  into  conversation, 
and  the  banker  asked  Lucien  to  dinner.  Finot  and  des  Lu- 
pleaux,  a  well-matched  pair,  knew  each  other  well  enough  to 
keep  upon  good  terms ;  they  turned  away  to  continue  their 
chat  on  one  of  the  sofas  in  the  green-room,  and  left  Lucien 
with  du  Tillet,  Merlin,  and  Nathan. 

**  By  the  way,  my  friend,"  said  Finot,  *'  tell  me  how  things 
stand.  Is  there  really  somebody  behind  Lucien  ?  For  he  is 
the  bete  noir  (wild  boar)  of  my  staff;  and  before  allowing 
them  to  plot  against  him,  I  thought  I  should  like  to  know 
whether,  in  your  opinion,  it  would  be  better  to  baffle  them 
and  keep  well  with  him." 

The  master  of  requests  and  Finot  looked  at  each  other  very 
closely  for  a  moment  or  two. 

**  My  dear  fellow,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  "how  can  you  im- 
agine that  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  or  Ch^telet,  or  Madame  de 
Bargeton — who  has  procured  the  Baron's  nomination  to  the 
prefecture  and  the  title  of  Count,  so  as  to  return  in  triumph 
to  Angoulgme — how  can  you  suppose  that  any  of  them  will 
forgive  Lucien  for  his  attacks  on  them  ?  They  dropped  him 
down  in  the  royalist  ranks  to  crush  him  out  of  existence. 
At  this  moment  they  are  looking  around  for  any  excuse  for 
not  fulfilling  the  promises  they  made  to  that  boy.  Help  them 
to  some ;  you  will  do  the  greatest  possible  service  to  the  two 
women,  and  some  day  or  other  they  will  remember  it.  I  am 
in  their  secrets ;  I  was  surprised  to  find  how  much  they  hated 
the  little  fellow.  This  Lucien  might  have  rid  himself  of  his 
bitterest  enemy  (Madame  de  Bargeton)  by  desisting  from  his 
attacks  on  terms  which  a  woman  loves  to  grant — do  you  take 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  327 

me  ?  He  is  young  and  handsome,  he  should  have  drowned 
her  hate  in  torrents  of  love,  he  would  be  Comte  de  Rubempr6 
by  this  time ;  the  cuttlefish-bone  would  have  obtained  some 
sinecure  for  him,  some  post  in  the  royal  household.  Lucien 
would  have  made  a  very  pretty  reader  to  Louis  XVIII.;  he 
might  have  been  librarian  somewhere  or  other,  master  of  re- 
quests for  a  joke,  master  of  the  revels,  what  you  please.  The 
young  fool  has  missed  his  chance.  Perhaps  that  is  his  un- 
pardonable sin.  Instead  of  imposing  his  conditions,  he  has 
accepted  them.  When  Lucien  was  caught  with  the  bait  of 
the  patent  of  nobility,  the  Baron  Ch^telet  made  a  great  step. 
Coralie  has  been  the  ruin  of  that  boy.  If  he  had  not  had  the 
actress  for  his  mistress,  he  would  have  turned  again  to  the 
cuttlefish-bone  ;  and  he  would  have  had  her,  too." 

*'  Then  we  can  knock  him  over  ?  " 

"How?"  des  Lupeaulx  asked  carelessly.  He  saw  away 
of  gaining  credit  with  the  Marquise  d'Espard  for  this  service. 

"  He  is  under  contract  to  write  for  Lousteau's  paper  and 
we  can  the  better  hold  him  to  his  agreement  because  he 
has  not  a  sou.  If  we  tickle  up  the  keeper  of  the  seals  with 
a  facetious  article,  and  prove  that  Lucien  wrote  it,  he 
will  consider  that  Lucien  is  unworthy  of  the  King's  favor. 
We  have  a  plot  on  hand  beside.  Coralie  will  be  ruined, 
and  our  distinguished  provincial  will  lose  his  head  when 
his  mistress  is  hissed  off  the  stage  and  left  without  an  en- 
gagement. When  once  the  patent  is  suspended,  we  will 
laugh  at  the  victim's  aristocratic  pretensions,  and  allude  to  his 
mother  the  nurse  and  his  father  the  apothecary.  Lucien' s 
courage  is  only  skin-deep,  he  will  collapse ;  we  will  send  him 
back  to  his  provinces.  Nathan  made  Florine  sell  me  Matifat's 
sixth  share  of  the  review,  I  was  able  to  buy ;  Dauriat  and  I 
are  the  only  proprietors  now ;  we  might  come  to  an  under- 
standing, you  and  I,  and  the  review  might  be  taken  over  for 
the  benefit  of  the  court.  I  stipulated  for  the  restitution  of 
my  sixth  before  I  undertook  to  protect  Nathan  and  Florine; 


328  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

they  let  me  have  it,  and  I  must  help  them ;  but  I  wished  to 
know  first  how  Lucien  stood " 

"You  deserve  your  name,"  said  des  Lupeaulx.  "  I  like  a 
man  of  your  sort " 

"  Very  well.  Then  can  you  arrange  a  definite  engagement 
for  Florine  ? ' '  asked  Finot. 

"  Yes,  but  rid  us  of  Lucien,  for  Rastignac  and  de  Marsay 
never  wish  to  hear  of  him  again." 

"  Sleep  in  peace,"  returned  Finot.  "Nathan  and  Merlin 
will  always  have  articles  ready  for  Gaillard,  who  will  promise 
to  take  them ;  Lucien  will  never  get  a  line  into  the  paper. 
We  will  cut  off  his  supplies.  There  is  only  Martainville's 
paper  left  him  in  which  to  defend  himself  and  Coralie ;  what 
can  a  single  paper  do  against  so  many?" 

**  I  will  let  you  know  the  weak  points  of  the  Ministry  ;  but 
get  Lucien  to  write  that  article  and  hand  over  the  manu- 
script," said  des  Lupeaulx,  who  refrained  carefully  from  in- 
forming Finot  that  Lucien's  promised  patent  was  nothing  but 
a  joke. 

When  des  Lupeaulx  had  gone,  Finot  went  to  Lucien,  and 
taking  the  good-natured  tone  which  deceives  so  many  victims, 
he  explained  that  he  could  not  possibly  afford  to  lose  his  con- 
tributor and  at  the  same  time  he  shrank  from  taking  proceed- 
ings which  might  ruin  him  with  his  friends  of  the  other  side. 
Finot  himself  liked  a  man  who  was  strong  enough  to  change 
his  opinions.  They  were  pretty  sure  to  come  across  one 
another,  he  and  Lucien,  and  might  be  mutually  helpful  in  a 
thousand  little  ways.  Lucien,  beside,  needed  a  sure  man  in 
the  Liberal  party  to  attack  the  Ultras  and  men  in  office  who 
might  refuse  to  help  him. 

"  Suppose  they  play  you  false,  what  will  you  do?"  Finot 
ended.  "  Suppose  that  some  minister  fancies  that  he  has  you 
fast  by  the  halter  of  your  apostasy,  and  turns  the  cold  shoulder 
on  you  ?  You  will  be  glad  to  set  on  a  few  dogs  to  snap  at  his 
legs,  will  you  not  ?    Very  well.     But  you  have  made  a  deadly 


A^  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  929 

enemy  of  Lousteau ;  he  is  thirsting  for  your  blood.  You  and 
Felicien  are  not  on  speaking  terms.  I  only  remain  to  you.  It 
is  a  rule  of  the  craft  to  keep  a  good  understanding  with  every 
man  of  real  ability.  In  the  world  which  you  are  about  to 
enter  you  can  do  me  services  in  return  for  mine  with  the 
press.  But  business  first.  Let  me  have  purely  literary  arti- 
cles ;  they  will  not  compromise  you,  and  we  shall  have  executed 
our  agreement." 

Lucien  saw  nothing  but  good-fellowship  and  a  shrewd  eye 
to  business  in  Finot's  offer;  Finot  and  des  Lupeaulx  had  flat- 
tered him,  and  he  was  in  a  good  humor.  He  actually  thanked 
Finot ! 

Ambitious  men,  like  all  those  who  can  only  make  their  way 
by  the  help  of  others  and  of  circumstances,  are  bound  to  lay 
their  plans  very  carefully  and  to  adhere  very  closely  to  the 
course  of  conduct  on  which  they  determine ;  it  is  a  cruel  mo- 
ment in  the  lives  of  such  aspirants  when  some  unknown  power 
brings  the  fabric  of  their  fortunes  to  some  severe  test  and 
everything  gives  way  at  once  ;  threads  are  snapped  or  entan- 
gled, and  misfortune  appears  on  every  side.  Let  a  man  lose 
his  head  in  the  confusion,  it  is  all  over  with  him  ;  but  if  he  can 
resist  this  first  revolt  of  circumstance,  if  he  can  stand  erect 
until  the  tempest  passes  over,  or  make  a  supreme  effort  and 
reach  the  serene  sphere  about  the  storm — then  he  is  really 
strong.  To  every  man,  unless  he  is  born  rich,  there  comes, 
sooner  or  later,  "his  fatal  week,"  as  it  must  be  called.  For 
Napoleon,  for  instance,  that  week  was  the  retreat  from  Mos- 
cow.    It  had  begun  now  for  Lucien. 

Social  and  literary  success  had  come  to  him  too  easily ;  he 
had  had  such  luck  that  he  was  bound  to  know  reverses  and  to 
see  men  and  circumstances  turn  against  him. 

The  first  blow  was  the  heaviest  and  the  most  keenly  felt, 
for  it  touched  Lucien  where  he  thought  himself  invulnerable 
— in  his  heart  and  his  love.  Coralie  might  not  be  clever,  but 
hers  was  a  noble  nature,  and  she  possessed  the  great  actress' 


330  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

faculty  of  suddenly  standing  aloof  from  self.  This  strange 
phenomenon  is  subject,  until  it  degenerates  into  a  habit  with 
long  practice,  to  the  caprices  of  character,  and  not  seldom  to 
an  admirable  delicacy  of  feeling  in  actresses  who  are  still 
young.  Coralie,  to  all  appearance  bold  and  wanton,  as  her 
part  required,  was  in  reality  girlish  and  timid,  and  love  had 
wrought  in  her  a  revulsion  of  her  woman's  heart  against  the 
comedian's  mask.  Art,  the  supreme  art  of  feigning  passion 
and  feeling,  had  not  yet  triumphed  over  nature  in  her;  she 
shrank  before  a  great  audience  from  the  utterance  that  belongs 
to  love  alone ;  and  Coralie  suffered  beside  from  another  true 
woman's  weakness — she  needed  success,  born  stage  queen 
though  she  was.  She  could  not  confront  an  audience  with 
which  she  was  out  of  sympathy ;  she  was  nervous  when  she 
appeared  on  the  stage,  a  cold  reception  paralyzed  her.  Each 
new  part  gave  her  the  terrible  sensations  of  a  first  appearance. 
Applause  produced  a  sort  of  intoxication  which  gave  her  en- 
couragement without  flattering  her  vanity ;  at  a  murmur  of 
dissatisfaction  or  before  a  silent  house,  she  flagged ;  but  a 
great  audience  following  attentively,  admiringly,  willing  to  be 
pleased,  electrified  Coralie.  She  felt  at  once  in  communica- 
tion with  the  nobler  qualities  of  all  those  listeners ;  she  felt 
that  she  possessed  the  power  of  stirring  their  souls  and  carry- 
ing them  with  her.  But  if  this  action  and  reaction  of  the 
audience  upon  the  actress  reveals  the  nervous  organization  of 
genius,  it  shows  no  less  clearly  the  poor  child's  sensitiveness 
and  delicacy.  Lucien  had  discovered  the  treasures  of  her 
nature ;  had  learned  in  the  past  months  that  this  woman  who 
loved  him  was  still  so  much  of  a  girl.  And  Coralie  was  un- 
skilled in  the  wiles  of  an  actress — she  could  not  fight  her  own 
battles  nor  protect  herself  against  the  machinations  of  jealousy 
behind  the  scenes.  Florine  was  jealous  of  her,  and  Florine 
was  as  dangerous  and  depraved  as  Coralie  was  simple  and 
generous.  Roles  must  come  to  find  Coralie ;  she  was  too 
proud  to  implore  authors  or  to  submit  to  dishonoring  condi- 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  381 

tions ;  she  would  hot  give  herself  to  the  first  journalist  who 
persecuted  her  with  his  advances  and  threatened  her  with  his 
pen.  Genius  is  rare  enough  in  the  extraordinary  art  of  the 
stage ;  but  genius  is  only  one  condition  of  success  among 
many,  and  is  positively  hurtful  unless  it  is  accompanied  by  a 
genius  for  intrigue,  in  which  Coralie  was  utterly  lacking. 

Lucien  knew  how  much  his  friend  would  suffer  on  her  first 
appearance  at  the  Gymnase,  and  was  anxious  at  all  costs  to 
obtain  a  success  for  her ;  but  all  the  money  remaining  from 
the  sale  of  the  furniture  and  all  Lucien's  earnings  had  been 
sunk  in  costumes,  in  the  furniture  of  a  dressing-room,  and  the 
expenses  of  a  first  appearance. 

A  few  days  later,  Lucien  made  up  his  mind  to  a  humiliating 
step  for  love's  sake.  He  took  Fendant  and  Cavalier's  bills 
and  went  to  the  "Golden  Cocoon"  in  the  Rue  des  Bour- 
donnais.  He  would  ask  Camusot  to  discount  them.  The 
poet  had  not  fallen  so  low  that  he  could  make  this  attempt 
coolly.  There  had  been  many  a  sharp  struggle  first,  and  the 
way  to  that  decision  had  been  paved  with  many  dreadful 
thoughts.  Nevertheless,  he  arrived  at  last  in  the  dark,  cheer- 
less little  private  office  that  looked  out  upon  a  yard,  and 
found  Camusot  seated  gravely  there ;  this  was  not  Coralie's 
infatuated  adorer,  not  the  easy-natured,  indolent,  incredulous 
libertine  whom  he  had  known  hitherto  as  Camusot,  but  a 
heavy  father  of  a  family,  a  merchant  grown  old  in  shrewd 
expedients  of  business  and  respectable  virtues,  wearing  a 
magistrate's  mask  of  judicial  prudery ;  this  Camusot  was  the 
cool,  business-like  head  of  the  firm  surrounded  by  clerks, 
green  cardboard  boxes,  pigeonholes,  invoices,  and  samples, 
and  fortified  by  the  presence  of  a  wife  and  a  plainly-dressed 
daughter.  Lucien  trembled  from  head  to  foot  as  he  timidly 
approached ;  for  the  worthy  merchant,  like  the  money- 
lenders, turned  cool,  indifferent  eyes  upon  him,  as  though  he 
was  an  entire  stranger. 

**  Here  are  two  or  three  bills,  monsieur,"  he  said,  standing 


332  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

beside  the  merchant,  who  did  not  rise  from  his  desk.     "  If 
you  will  take  them  of  me,  you  will  oblige  me  extremely." 

"You  have  taken  something  of  me,  monsieur,"  said  Camu- 
sot ;  "  I  do  not  forget  it." 

On  this,  Lucien  explained  Coralie's  predicament.  He 
spoke  in  a  low  voice,  bending  to  murmur  his  explanation,  so 
that  Camusot  could  hear  the  heavy  throbbing  of  the  humil- 
iated poet's  heart.  It  was  no  part  of  Camusot' s  plans  that 
Coralie  should  suffer  a  check.  He  listened,  smiling  to  him- 
self over  the  signatures  on  the  bills  (  for,  as  a  judge  at  the 
Tribunal  of  Commerce,  he  knew  how  the  booksellers  stood), 
but  in  the  end  he  gave  Lucien  four  thousand  five  hundred 
francs  for  them,  stipulating  that  he  should  add  the  formula, 
"  For  value  received  in  silks." 

Lucien  went  straight  to  Braulard,  and  made  arrangements 
for  a  good  reception.  Braulard  promised  to  come  to  the 
dress- rehearsal,  to  determine  on  the  points  where  his  "  Ro- 
mans" should  work  their  fleshy  clappers  to  bring  down  the 
house  in  applause.  Lucien  gave  the  rest  of  the  money  to 
Coralie  (he  did  not  tell  her  how  he  had  come  by  it),  and 
allayed  her  anxieties  and  the  fears  of  Berenice,  who  was  sorely 
troubled  over  their  daily  expenses. 

Martainville  came  several  times  to  hear  Coralie  rehearse, 
and  he  knew  more  of  the  stage  than  most  men  of  his  time ; 
several  royalist  writers  had  promised  favorable  articles; 
Lucien  had  not  a  suspicion  of  the  impending  disaster. 

A  fatal  event  occurred  on  the  evening  before  Coralie's 
dibut.  D'Arthez's  book  had  appeared ;  and  the  editor  of 
Merlin's  paper,  considering  Lucien  to  be  the  best  qualified 
man  on  the  staff,  gave  him  the  book  to  review.  He  owned 
his  unlucky  reputation  to  those  articles  on  Nathan's  work. 
There  were  several  men  in  the  office  at  the  time,  for  all  the 
staff  had  been  summoned ;  Martainville  was  explaining  that 
the  party  warfare  with  the  Liberals  must  be  waged  on  certain 
lines.     Nathan,  Merlin,  all  the  contributors  in   fact,  were 


A^PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  338 

talking  of  Leon  Giraud's  paper,  and  remarking  that  its  influ- 
ence was  the  more  pernicious  because  the  language  was 
guarded,  cool,  moderate.  People  were  beginning  to  speak  of 
the  circle  in  the  Rue  des  Quatre-Vents  as  a  second  convention. 
It  had  been  decided  that  the  royalist  papers  were  to  wage  a 
systematic  war  of  extermination  against  these  dangerous 
opponents,  who,  indeed,  at  a  later  day,  were  destined  to  sow 
the  doctrines  that  drove  the  Bourbons  into  exile;  but  that 
was  only  after  the  most  brilliant  of  royalist  writers  had  joined 
them  for  the  sake  of  a  mean  revenge. 

D'Arthez's  absolutist  opinions  were  not  known ;  it  was 
taken  for  granted  that  he  shared  the  views  of  his  clique,  he 
fell  under  the  same  anathema,  and  he  was  to  be  the  first 
victim.  His  book  was  to  be  honored  with  "a  slashing 
article,"  to  use  the  consecrated  formula.  Lucien  refused  to 
write  the  article.  Great  was  the  commotion  among  the  lead- 
ing royalist  writers  thus  met  in  conclave.  Lucien  was  told 
plainly  that  a  renegade  could  not  do  as  he  pleased ;  if  it  did 
not  suit  his  views  to  take  the  side  of  the  monarchy  and  re- 
ligion, he  could  go  back  to  the  other  camp.  Merlin  and 
Martainville  took  him  aside  and  begged  him,  as  his  friends, 
to  remember  that  he  would  simply  hand  Coralie  over  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  Liberal  papers,  for  she  would  find  no 
champions  on  the  royalist  and  ministerial  side.  Her  acting 
was  certain  to  provoke  a  hot  battle,  and  the  kind  of  discussion 
which  every  actress  longs  to  arouse. 

"  You  don't  understand  it  in  the  least,"  said  Martainville; 
"  if  she  plays  for  three  months  amid  a  cross-fire  of  criticism, 
she  will  make  thirty  thousand  francs  when  she  goes  on  tour 
in  the  provinces  at  the  end  of  the  season ;  and  here  you  are 
about  to  sacrifice  Coralie  and  your  own  future,  and  to  quarrel 
with  your  own  bread  and  butter,  all  for  a  scruple  that  will 
always  stand  in  your  way,  and  ought  to  be  gotten  rid  of  at 
once." 

Lucien  was  forced  to  choose  between  d'Arthez  and  Coralie. 


834  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

His  mistress  would  be  ruined  unless  he  dealt  his  friend  a 
death-blow  in  the  "  Re  veil  "  and  the  great  newspaper.  Poor 
poet !  He  went  home  with  death  in  his  soul ;  and  by  the 
fireside  he  sat  and  read  that  finest  production  of  modern 
literature.  Tears  fell  fast  over  it  as  the  pages  turned.  For  a 
long  while  he  hesitated,  but  at  last  he  took  up  the  pen  and 
wrote  a  sarcastic  article  of  the  kind  that  he  understood  so 
well,  taking  the  book  as  children  might  take  some  bright  bird 
to  strip  it  of  its  plumage  and  torture  it.  His  sardonic  jests 
were  sure  to  tell.  Again  he  turned  to  the  book,  and  as  he 
read  it  over  a  second  time,  his  better  self  awoke.  In  the  dead 
of  night  he  hurried  across  Paris  and  stood  outside  d'Arthez's 
house.  He  looked  up  at  the  windows  and  saw  the  faint  pure 
gleam  of  light  in  the  panes,  as  he  had  so  often  seen  it,  with  a 
feeling  of  admiration  for  the  noble  steadfastness  of  that  truly 
great  nature.  For  some  moments  he  stood  irresolute  on  the 
curbstone;  he  had  not  courage  to  go  further;  but  his  good 
angel  urged  him  on.  He  tapped  at  the  door  and  opened, 
and  found  d'Arthez  sitting  reading  in  a  fireless  room. 

"  What  has  happened?"  asked  d'Arthez,  for  news  of  some 
dreadful  kind  was  visible  in  Lucien's  ghastly  face. 

"Your  book  is  sublime,  d'Arthez,"  said  Lucien,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  **  and  they  have  ordered  me  to  write  an  attack 
upon  it." 

"  Poor  boy !  the  bread  that  they  give  you  is  hard  indeed  !  " 
said  d'Arthez. 

"  I  only  ask  for  one  favor,  keep  my  visit  a  secret  and  leave 
me  to  my  hell,  to  the  occupations  of  the  damned.  Perhaps 
it  is  impossible  to  attain  to  success  until  the  heart  is  seared 
and  callous  in  every  most  sensitive  spot." 

**  The  same  as  ever !  "  cried  d'Arthez. 

"  Do  you  think  me  a  base  poltroon  ?  No,  d'Arthez ;  no, 
I  am  a  boy  half-crazed  with  love,"  and  he  told  his  story. 

**  Let  us  look  at  the  article,"  said  d'Arthez,  touched  by  all 
that  Lucien  said  of  Coralie. 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  336 

Lucien  held  out  the  manuscript ;  d' Arthez  read,  and  could 
not  help  smiling. 

"  Oh,  what  a  fatal  waste  of  intellect !  "  he  began.  But  at 
the  sight  of  Lucien  overcome  with  grief  in  the  opposite  arm- 
chair he  checked  himself. 

"  Will  you  leave  it  with  me  to  correct  ?  I  will  let  you  have 
it  again  to-morrow,"  he  went  on.  *'  Flippancy  depreciates  a 
work ;  serious  and  conscientious  criticism  is  sometimes  praise 
in  itself.  I  know  the  way  to  make  your  article  more  honor- 
able both  for  yourself  and  for  me.  Beside,  I  know  my  faults 
well  enough." 

"  When  you  climb  a  hot,  shadowless  hillside,  you  some- 
times find  fruit  to  quench  your  torturing  thirst ;  and  I  have 
found  it  here  and  now,"  said  Lucien,  as  he  sprang  sobbing  to 
d'Arthez's  arms  and  kissed  his  friend  on  the  forehead.  "  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  am  leaving  my  conscience  in  your  keep- 
ing ;  some  day  I  will  come  to  you  and  ask  for  it  again." 

"  I  look  upon  a  periodical  repentance  as  great  hypocrisy," 
d' Arthez  said  solemnly  ;  "  repentance  becomes  a  sort  of  in- 
demnity for  wrongdoing.  Repentance  is  virginity  of  soul, 
which  we  must  keep  for  God ;  a  man  who  repents  twice  is  a 
horrible  sycophant.  I  am  afraid  that  you  regard  repentance 
as  absolution." 

Lucien  went  slowly  back  to  the  Rue  de  la  Lune,  stricken 
dumb  by  those  words. 

Next  morning  d' Arthez  sent  back  his  article,  recast  through- 
out, and  Lucien  sent  it  in  to  the  review ;  but  from  that  day 
melancholy  preyed  upon  him  and  he  could  not  always  dis- 
guise his  mood.  That  evening,  when  the  theatre  was  full,  he 
experienced  for  the  first  time  the  paroxysm  of  nervous  terror 
caused  by  a  debut;  terror  aggravated  in  his  case  by  all  the 
strength  of  his  love.  Vanity  of  every  kind  was  involved. 
He  looked  over  the  rows  of  faces  as  a  criminal  eyes  the  judges 
and  the  jury  on  whom  his  life  depends.  A  murmur  would 
have  set  him  quivering ;  any  slight  incident  upon  the  stage. 


336  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

Coralie's  exits  and  entrances,  the  slightest  modulation  of  the 
tones  of  her  voice,  would  perturb  him  beyond  all  reason. 

The  play  in  which  Coralie  made  her  first  appearance  at  the 
Gymnase  was  a  piece  of  the  kind  which  sometimes  falls  flat 
at  first,  and  afterward  has  immense  success.  It  fell  flat  that 
night.  Coralie  was  not  applauded  when  she  came  on,  and  the 
chilly  reception  reacted  upon  her.  The  only  applause  came 
from  Camusot's  box,  and  various  persons  posted  in  the  bal- 
cony and  galleries  silenced  Camusot  with  repeated  cries  of 
*'  Hush  !  "  The  galleries  even  silenced  the  claqueurs  when 
they  led  off"  with  exaggerated  salvoes.  Martainville  applauded 
bravely ;  Nathan,  Merlin,  and  the  treacherous  Florine  fol- 
lowed his  example ;  but  it  was  clear  that  the  piece  was  a 
failure.  A  crowd  gathered  in  Coralie's  dressing-room  and 
consoled  her,  till  she  had  no  courage  left.  She  went  home  in 
despair,  less  for  her  own  sake  than  for  Lucien's. 

"  Braulard  has  betrayed  us,"  Lucien  said. 

Coralie  was  heart -stricken.  The  next  day  found  her  in  a 
high  fever,  utterly  unfit  to  play,  face  to  face  with  the  thought 
that  she  had  been  cut  short  in  her  career.  Lucien  hid  the 
papers  from  her  and  looked  them  over  in  the  dining-room. 
The  reviewers  one  and  all  attributed  the  failure  of  the  piece 
to  Coralie ;  she  had  overestimated  her  strength  ;  she  might 
be  the  delight  of  a  boulevard  audience,  but  she  was  out  of  her 
element  at  the  Gymnase ;  she  had  been  inspired  by  a  lauda- 
ble ambition,  but  she  has  not  taken  her  powers  into  account ; 
she  had  chosen  a  part  to  which  she  was  quite  unequal.  Lu- 
cien read  on  through  a  pile  of  penny-a-lining,  put  together 
on  the  same  system  as  his  attack  upon  Nathan.  Milo  of  Cro- 
tona,  when  he  found  his  hands  fast  in  the  oak  which  he  him- 
self had  cleft,  was  not  more  furious  than  Lucien.  He  grew 
haggard  with  rage.  His  friends  gave  Coralie  the  most  treach- 
erous advice,  in  the  language  of  kindly  counsel  and  friendly 
interest.  She  should  play  (according  to  these  authorities)  all 
kinds  of  rdles,  which  the  treacherous  writers  of  these  un- 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  937 

blushing  feuilletons  £new  to  be  utterly  unsuited  to  her  genius. 
And  these  were  the  royalist  papers,  led  off  by  Nathan.  As 
for  the  Liberal  press,  all  the  weapons  which  Lucien  had  used 
were  now  turned  against  him. 

Coralie  heard  a  sob,  followed  by  another  and  another.  She 
sprang  out  of  bed  to  find  Lucien  and  saw  the  papers.  Nothing 
would  satisfy  her  but  she  must  read  them  all;  and  when 
she  had  read  them  she  went  back  to  bed  and  lay  there  in 
silence. 

Florine  was  in  the  plot ;  she  had  foreseen  the  outcome ;  she 
had  studied  Coralie's  part,  and  was  ready  to  take  her  place. 
The  management,  unwilling  to  give  up  the  piece,  was  ready  to 
take  Florine  in  Coralie's  stead.  When  the  manager  came,  he 
found  poor  Coralie  sobbing  and  exhausted  on  her  bed ;  but 
when  lie  began  to  say,  in  Lucien's  presence,  that  Florine  knew 
the  part,  and  that  the  play  must  be  given  that  evening,  Coralie 
sprang  up  at  once. 

"  I  will  play  !  "  she  cried,  and  sank  fainting  on  the  floor. 

So  Florine  took  the  part  and  made  her  reputation  in  it ;  for 
the  piece  succeeded,  the  newspapers  all  sang  her  praises,  and 
from  that  time  forth  Florine  was  the  great  actress  whom  we 
all  know.  Florine's  success  exasperated  Lucien  to  the  highest 
degree. 

"A  wretched  girl,  whom  you  helped  to  earn  her  bread  !  If 
the  Gymnase  prefers  to  do  so,  let  the  management  pay  you  to 
cancel  your  engagement.  I  shall  be  the  Comte  de  Rubempr6 ; 
\  I  will  make  my  fortune  and  you  shall  be  my  wife." 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  said  Coralie,  looking  at  him  with  wan 
eyes. 

**  Nonsense  !  "  repeated  he.  **  Very  well,  wait  a  few  days, 
and  you  shall  live  in  a  fine  house,  you  shall  have  a  carriage 
and  I  will  write  a  part  for  you." 

He  took  two  thousand  francs  and  hurried  to  Frascati's. 
For  seven  hours  the  unhappy  victim  of  the  Furies  watched  his 
varying  luck,  and  outwardly  seemed  cool  and  self-contained. 
22 


338  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

He  experienced  both  extremes  of  fortune  during  that  day  and 
part  of  the  night  that  followed  ;  at  one  time  he  possessed  as 
much  as  thirty  thousand  francs,  and  he  came  out  at  last  with- 
out a  sou.  In  the  Rue  de  la  Lune  he  found  Finot  waiting  for 
him  with  a  request  for  one  of  his  short  articles.  Lucien  so  far 
forgot  himself  that  he  complained. 

"Oh,  it  is  not  all  rosy,"  returned  Finot.  "You  made 
your  right-about-face  in  such  a  way  that  you  were  bound  to 
lose  the  support  of  the  Liberal  press,  and  the  Liberals  are  far 
stronger  in  print  than  all  the  Ministerialist  and  Royalist  papers 
put  together.  A  man  should  never  leave  one  camp  for 
another  until  he  has  made  a  comfortable  berth  for  himself,  by 
way  of  consolation  for  the  losses  that  he  must  expect ;  and  in 
any  case  a  prudent  politician  will  see  his  friends  first,  and  give 
them  .  his  reasons  for  going  over,  and  take  their  opinions. 
You  can  still  act  together,  they  sympathize  with  you,  and  you 
agree  to  give  mutual  help.  Nathan  and  Merlin  did  that  before 
they  went  over.  Hawks  don't  pike  out  hawks'  eyes.  You 
were  as  innocent  as  a  lamb ;  you  will  be  forced  to  show  your 
teeth  to  your  new  party  to  make  anything  out  of  them.  You 
have  been  necessarily  sacrificed  to  Nathan.  I  cannot  conceal 
from  you  that  your  article  on  d'Arthez  has  roused  a  terrific 
hubbub.  Marat  is  a  saint  compared  with  you.  You  will  be 
attacked  and  your  book  will  be  a  failure.  How  far  have 
things  gone  with  your  romance  ?  " 

'*  These  are  the  last  proof-sheets." 

"All  the  anonymous  articles  against  that  young  d'Arthez  in 
the  Ministerialist  and  Ultra  papers  are  set  down  to  you.  The 
*  Reveil '  is  poking  fun  at  the  set  in  the  Rue  des  Quatre- Vents, 
and  the  hits  are  the  more  telling  because  they  are  funny. 
There  is  a  whole  serious  political  coterie  at  the  back  of  L6on 
Giraud's  paper  ]  they  will  come  into  power,  too,  sooner  or 
later." 

**  I  have  not  written  a  line  in  the  *  R6veil  *  this  week 
past." 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  339 

"Very  well.  Keep  my  short  articles  in  mind.  Write  fifty 
of  them  straight  off,  and  I  will  pay  you  for  them  in  a  lump ; 
but  they  must  be  of  the  same  color  as  the  paper."  And  Finot, 
with  seeming  carelessness,  gave  Lucien  an  edifying  anecdote 
of  the  keeper  of  the  seals,  a  piece  of  current  gossip,  he  said, 
for  the  subject  of  one  of  the  papers. 

Eager  to  retrieve  his  losses  at  play,  Lucien  shook  off  his 
dejection,  summoned  up  his  energy  and  youthful  force,  and 
wrote  thirty  articles  of  two  columns  each.  These  finished,  he 
went  to  Dauriat's,  partly  because  he  felt  sure  of  meeting  Finot 
there,  and  he  wished  to  give  the  articles  to  Finot  in  person ; 
partly  because  he  wished  for  an  explanation  of  the  non-appear- 
ance of  the  "  Marguerites."  He  found  the  bookseller's  shop 
full  of  his  enemies.  All  the  talk  immediately  ceased  as  he 
entered.  Put  under  the  ban  of  journalism,  his  courage  rose, 
and  once  more  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  had  said  in  the  alley 
at  the  Luxembourg,  "  I  will  triumph." 

Dauriat  was  neither  amiable  nor  inclined  to  patronize ;  he 
was  sarcastic  in  tone  and  determined  not  to  abate  an  inch  of 
his  rights.  The  "  Marguerites  "  should  appear  when  it  suited 
his  purpose  ;  he  should  wait  until  Lucien  was  in  a  position  to 
secure  the  success  of  the  book ;  it  was  his,  he  had  bought  it 
outright.  When  Lucien  asserted  that  Dauriat  was  bound  to 
publish  the  "  Marguerites  "  by  the  very  nature  of  the  contract, 
and  the  relative  positions  of  the  parties  to  the  agreement, 
Dauriat  flatly  contradicted  him,  said  that  no  publisher  could 
be  compelled  by  law  to  publish  at  a  loss,  and  that  he  himself 
was  the  best  judge  of  the  expediency  of  producing  the  book. 
There  was,  beside,  a  remedy  open  to  Lucien,  as  any  court  of 
law  would  admit — the  poet  was  quite  welcome  to  take  his 
verses  to  a  royalist  publisher  upon  the  repayment  of  the  thou- 
sand crowns. 

Lucien  went  away.  Dauriat's  moderate  tone  had  exasper- 
ated him  even  more  than  his  previous  arrogance  at  their  first 
interview.     So  the  "  Marguerites  "  would  not  appear  until 


340  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

Lucien  had  found  a  host  of  formidable  supporters,  or  grown 
formidable  himself.  He  walked  home  slowly,  so  oppressed 
and  out  of  heart  that  he  felt  ready  for  suicide.  Coralie  lay 
in  bed,  looking  white  and  ill. 

"  She  must  have  a  part  or  she  will  die,"  said  Berenice,  as 
Lucien  dressed  for  a  great  evening  party  at  Mile,  des  Touches' 
house  in  the  Rue  du  Mont  Blanc.  Des  Lupeaulx  and  Vignon 
and  Blondet  were  to  be  there,  as  well  as  Mrae.  d'Espard  and 
Mme.  de  Bargeton. 

The  party  was  given  in  honor  of  Conti,  the  great  composer, 
owner  likewise  of  one  of  the  most  famous  voices  off  the  stage, 
Cinti,  Pasta,  Garcia,  Levasseur,  and  two  or  three  celebrated 
amateurs  in  society  not  excepted.  Lucien  saw  the  Marquise, 
her  cousin,  and  Mme.  de  Montcornet  sitting  together,  and 
made  one  of  the  party.  The  unhappy  young  fellow  to  all 
appearance  was  light-hearted,  happy,  and  content ;  he  jested, 
he  was  the  Lucien  de  Rubempre  of  his  days  of  splendor,  he 
would  not  seem  to  need  help  from  any  one.  He  dwelt  on 
his  services  to  the  Royalist  party,  and  cited  the  hue  and  cry 
raised  after  him  by  the  Liberal  press  as  a  proof  of  his  zeal. 

"And  you  will  be  well  rewarded,  my  friend,"  said  Mme. 
de  Bargeton,  with  a  gracious  smile.  "Go  to  the  Chancellor 
the  day  after  to-morrow  with  *  the  heron  '  and  des  Lupeaulx, 
and  you  will  find  your  patent  signed  by  his  majesty.  The 
keeper  of  the  seals  will  take  it  to-morrow  to  the  Tuileries,  but 
there  is  to  be  a  meeting  of  the  council,  and  he  will  not  come 
back  till  late.  Still,  if  I  hear  the  result  to-morrow  evening,  I 
will  let  you  know.     Where  are  you  living  ?  " 

"  I  will  come  to  you,"  said  Lucien,  ashamed  to  confess  that 
he  was  living  in  the  Rue  de  la  Lune. 

"  The  Due  de  Lenoncourt  and  the  Due  de  Navarreins  have 
made  mention  of  you  to  the  King,"  added  the  Marquise ; 
**  they  praised  your  absolute  and  entire  devotion,  and  said 
that  some  distinction  ought  to  avenge  your  treatment  on  the 
Liberal  press.     The  name  and  title  of  Rubempr6,  to  which 


A  J>ROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS,  341 

you  have  a  claim  through  your  mother,  would  become  illus- 
trious through  you,  they  said.  The  King  gave  his  lordship 
instructions  that  evening  to  prepare  a  patent  authorizing  the 
Sieur  Lucien  Chardon  to  bear  the  arms  and  title  of  the 
Comtes  de  Rubempre,  as  grandson  of  the  last  Count  by  the 
mother's  side.  '  Let  us  favor  the  songsters '  (chardonnerets) 
*  of  Pindus,'  said  his  majesty,  after  reading  your  sonnet  on 
the  Lily,  which  my  cousin  luckily  remembered  to  give  the 
Duke.  *  Especially  when  the  King  can  work  miracles,  and 
change  the  song-bird  into  an  eagle,'  de  Navarreins  replied." 

Lucien's  expansion  of  feeling  would  have  softened  the  heart 
of  any  woman  less  deeply  wounded  than  Louise  d'Espard  de 
Negrepelisse  ;  but  her  thirst  for  vengeance  was  only  increased 
by  Lucien's  graciousness.  Des  Lupeaulx  was  right ;  Lucien 
was  wanting  in  tact.  It  never  crossed  his  mind  that  this  his- 
tory of  the  patent  was  one  of  the  mystifications  at  which 
Madame  d'Espard  was  an  adept.  Emboldened  with  success 
and  the  flattering  distinction  shown  to  him  by  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches,  he  stayed  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  for  a 
word  in  private  with  his  hostess.  Lucien  had  learned  in 
royalist  newspaper  offices  that  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
was  the  author  of  a  play  in  which  "La  Petite  Fay,"  the 
marvel  of  the  moment,  was  about  to  appear.  As  the  rooms 
emptied,  he  drew  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  a  sofa  in  the 
boudoir,  and  told  the  story  of  Coralie's  misfortune  and  his 
own  so  touchingly  that  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  promised 
to  give  the  heroine's  part  to  his  friend. 

That  promise  put  new  life  into  Coralie.  But  the  next  day, 
as  they  breakfasted  together,  Lucien  opened  Lousteau's  news- 
paper and  found  that  unlucky  anecdote  of  the  keeper  of  the 
seals  and  his  wife.  The  story  was  full  of  the  blackest  malice 
lurking  in  the  most  caustic  wit,  Louis  XVIH.  was  brought 
into  the  story  in  a  masterly  fashion  and  held  up  to  ridicule 
in  such  a  way  that  prosecution  was  impossible.  Here  is  the 
substance  of  a  fiction  for  which  the  Liberal  party  attempted 


342  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

to  win  credence,  though  they  only  succeeded  in  adding  one 
more  to  the  tale  of  their  ingenious  calumnies. 

The  King's  passion  for  pink-scented  notes  and  a  corre- 
spondence full  of  madrigals  and  sparkling  wit  was  declared  to 
be  the  last  phase  of  the  tender  passion ;  love  had  reached  the 
doctrinaire  stage ;  or  had  passed,  in  other  words,  from  the 
concrete  to  the  abstract.  The  illustrious  lady,  so  cruelly 
ridiculed  under  the  name  of  Octavie  by  Beranger,  had  con- 
ceived (so  it  was  said)  the  gravest  fears.  The  correspondence 
was  languishing.  The  more  Octavie  displayed  her  wit,  the 
cooler  grew  the  royal  lover.  At  last  Octavie  discovered  the 
cause  of  her  decline ;  her  power  was  threatened  by  the  novelty 
and  piquancy  of  a  correspondence  between  the  august  scribe 
and  the  wife  of  his  keeper  of  the  seals.  That  excellent 
woman  was  believed  to  be  incapable  of  writing  a  note;  she 
was  simply  and  solely  godmother  to  the  efforts  of  audacious 
ambition.  Who  could  be  hidden  behind  her  petticoats? 
Octavie  decided,  after  making  observations  of  her  own,  that 
the  King  was  corresponding  with  his  minister. 

She  laid  her  plans.  With  the  help  of  a  faithful  friend,  she 
arranged  that  a  stormy  debate  should  detain  the  minister  at 
the  Chamber ;  then  she  contrived  to  secure  a  tite-a-tite,  and 
to  convince  outraged  majesty  of  the  fraud.  Louis  XVIII. 
flew  into  a  royal  and  truly  Bourbon  passion,  but  the  tempest 
broke  on  Octavie's  head.  He  would  not  believe  her.  Oc- 
tavie offered  immediate  proof,  begging  the  King  to  write  a 
note  which  must  be  answered  at  once.  The  unlucky  wife  of 
the  keeper  of  the  seals  sent  to  the  Chamber  for  her  husband ; 
but  precautions  had  been  taken,  and  at  that  moment  the  min- 
ister was  on  his  legs  addressing  the  Chamber.  The  lady 
racked  her  brains  and  replied  to  the  note  with  such  intellect 
as  she  could  improvise. 

"Your  Chancellor  will  supply  the  rest,"  cried  Octavie, 
laughing  at  the  King's  chagrin. 

There  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  the  story ;  but  it  struck 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  843 

home  to  three  persons — the  keeper  of  the  seals,  his  wife,  and 
the  King.  It  was  said  that  des  Lupeaulx  had  invented  the 
tale,  but  Finot  always  kept  his  counsel.  The  article  was 
caustic  and  clever,  the  Liberal  papers  and  the  Orleanists  were 
delighted  with  it,  and  Lucien  himself  laughed,  and  thought 
of  it  merely  as  a  very  amusing  canard. 

He  called  next  day  for  des  Lupeaulx  aud  the  Baron  du 
Chatelet.  The  Baron  had  just  been  to  thank  his  lordship. 
The  Sieur  Chatelet,  newly  appointed  councilor  extraordinary, 
was  now  Comte  du  Chatelet,  with  a  promise  of  the  prefecture 
of  the  Charente  so  soon  as  the  present  prefect  should  have 
completed  the  term  of  office  necessary  to  receive  the  maximum 
retiring  pension.  The  Comte  du  Chatelet  (for  the  du  had 
been  inserted  in  the  patent)  drove  with  Lucien  to  the  Chan- 
cellor's, and  treated  his  companion  as  an  equal.  But  for 
Lucien' s  articles,  he  said,  his  patent  would  not  have  been 
granted  so  soon ;  Liberal  persecution  had  been  a  stepping- 
stone  to  advancement,  Des  Lupeaulx  was  waiting  for  them 
in  the  secretary-general's  office.  That  functionary  started 
with  surprise  when  Lucien  appeared  and  looked  at  des  Lu- 
peaulx. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  to  Lucien's  utter  bewilderment. 
**  Do  you  dare  to  come  here,  sir  ?  Your  patent  was  made  out, 
but  his  lordship  has  torn  it  up.  Here  it  is  !  "  (the  secretary- 
general  caught  up  the  first  torn  sheet  that  came  to  hand),  "  The 
minister  wished  to  discover  the  author  of  yesterday's  atrocious 
article,  and  here  is  the  manuscript,"  added  the  speaker,  hold- 
ing out  the  sheets  of  Lucien's  article.  "You  call  yourself  a 
royalist,  sir,  and  you  are  on  the  staff"  of  that  detestable  paper 
which  turns  the  minister's  hair  gray,  harasses  the  Centre,  and 
is  dragging  the  country  headlong  to  ruin  ?  You  breakfast  on 
the  'Corsaire,'  the  '  Miroir,'  the  '  Constitutionnel,'  and  the 
'Courier;'  you  dine  on  the  ' Quotidienne '  and  the  'Reveil,' 
and  then  sup  with  Martainville,  the  worst  enemy  of  the  gov- 
ernment?    Martainville  urges  the  government  on  to  abso- 


844  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

lutist  measures;  he  is  more  likely  to  bring  on  another  revolu- 
tion than  if  he  had  gone  over  to  the  extreme  Left.  You  are 
a  very  clever  journalist,  but  you  will  never  make  a  politician. 
The  minister  denounced  you  to  the  King,  and  the  King  was 
so  angry  that  he  scolded  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Navarreins,  his 
first  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber.  Your  enemies  will  be  all 
the  more  formidable  because  they  have  hitherto  been  your 
friends.  Conduct  that  one  expects  from  an  enemy  is  atrocious 
in  a  friend." 

"Why  really,  my  dear  fellow,  are  you  a  child?  "  said  des 
Lupeaulx.  "  You  have  compromised  me.  Madame  d'Espard, 
Madame  de  Bargeton,  and  Madame  de  Montcornet,  who  were 
responsible  for  you,  must  be  furious.  The  Duke  is  sure  to 
have  handed  on  his  annoyance  to  the  Marquise,  and  the  Mar- 
quise will  have  scolded  her  cousin.  Keep  away  from  them 
and  wait." 

**  Here  comes  his  lordship — go  !"  said  the  secretary-general. 

Lucien  went  out  into  the  Place  Vendome ;  he  was  stunned 
by  this  bludgeon  blow.  He  walked  home  along  the  boulevards 
trying  to  think  over  his  position.  He  saw  himself  a  plaything 
in  the  hands  of  envy,  treachery,  and  greed.  What  was  he  in  this 
world  of  contending  ambitions  ?  A  child  sacrificing  every- 
thing to  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  and  the  gratification  of  vanity; 
a  poet  whose  thoughts  never  went  beyond  the  moment,  a 
moth  flitting  from  one  bright  gleaming  object  to  another. 
He  had  no  definite  aim ;  he  was  the  slave  of  circumstance — 
meaning  well,  doing  ill.  Conscience  tortured  him  remorse- 
lessly. And,  to  crown  it  all,  he  was  penniless  and  exhausted 
with  work  and  emotion.  His  articles  could  not  compare  with 
Merlin's  or  Nathan's  work. 

He  walked  on  at  random,  absorbed  in  these  thoughts.  As 
he  passed  some  of  the  reading-rooms  which  were  already  lend- 
ing books  as  well  as  newspapers,  a  placard  caught  his  eyes. 
It  was  an  advertisement  of  a  book  with  a  grotesque  title,  but 
beneath  the  announcement  he  saw  his  name  in  brilliant  letters 


ul  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  345 

— "By  Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempre."  So  his  book  had 
come  out,  and  he  had  heard  nothing  of  it !  All  the  news- 
papers were  silent.  He  stood  motionless  before  the  placard, 
his  arms  hanging  at  his  sides.  He  did  not  notice  a  little  knot 
of  acquaintances — Rastignac  and  de  Marsay  and  some  other 
fashionable  young  men ;  nor  did  he  see  that  Michel  Chrestien 
and  Leon  Giraud  were  coming  toward  him. 

"  Are  you  Monsieur  Chardon  ?  "  It  was  Michel  who  spoke, 
and  there  was  that  in  the  sound  of  his  voice  that  set  Lucien's 
heartstrings  vibrating. 

"Do  you  not  know  me?  "  he  asked,  turning  very  pale. 

Michel  spat  in  his  face. 

"  Take  that  as  your  wages  for  your  article  against  d'Arthez. 
If  everybody  would  do  as  I  do  on  his  own  or  his  friend's  be- 
half, the  press  would  be  as  it  ought  to  be — a  self-respecting 
and  respected  priesthood." 

Lucien  staggered  back  and  caught  hold  of  Rastignac. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  addressing  Rastignac  and  de  Mar- 
say,  in  an  excited  manner,  "  you  will  not  refuse  to  act  as  my 
seconds.  But,  first,  I  wish  to  make  matters  even  and  apology 
impossible." 

He  struck  Michel  a  sudden,  unexpected  blow  in  the  face. 
The  rest  rushed  in  between  the  republican  and  royalist,  to 
prevent  a  street  brawl.  Rastignac  dragged  Lucien  off  to  the 
Rue  Taitbout,  only  a  few  steps  away  from  the  Boulevard  de 
Gand,  where  this  scene  took  place.  It  was  the  hour  of 
dinner,  or  a  crowd  would  have  assembled  at  once.  De 
Marsay  came  to  find  Lucien,  and  the  pair  insisted  that  he 
should  dine  with  them  at  the  Caf6  Anglais,  where  they  drank 
and  made  merry. 

"  Are  you  a  good  swordsman  ?  "  inquired  de  Marsay. 

"  I  have  never  had  a  foil  in  my  hands." 

"A  good  shot?" 

"  Never  fired  a  pistol  in  my  life." 

**  Then  you  have  luck  on  your  side.     You  are  a  formidable 


346  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

antagonist  to  stand  up  to  ;  you  may  kill  your  man,"  saidde 
Marsay. 

Fortunately,  Lucien  found  Coralie  in  bed  and  asleep. 

She  had  played  without  rehearsal  in  a  one-act  play,  and 
taken  her  revenge.  She  had  met  with  genuine  applause. 
Her  enemies  had  not  been  prepared  for  this  step  on  her  part, 
and  her  success  had  determined  the  manager  to  give  her  the 
heroine's  part  in  Camille  Maupin's  play.  He  had  discovered 
the  cause  of  her  apparent  failure,  and  was  indignant  with 
Florine  and  Nathan.  Coralie  should  have  the  protection  of 
the  management. 

At  five  o'clock  that  morning,  Rastignac  came  for  Lucien. 

"The  name  of  your  street,  my  dear  fellow,  is  particularly 
appropriate  for  your  lodgings;  you  are  up  in  the  sky,"  he 
said,  by  way  of  greeting.  "  Let  us  be  first  upon  the  ground 
on  the  road  to  Clignancourt ;  it  is  good  form,  and  we  ought 
to  set  them  an  example." 

"Here  is  the  programme,"  said  de  Marsay,  as  the  cab 
rattled  through  the  Faubourg  Saint-Denis :  "  You  stand  up 
at  twenty-five  paces,  coming  nearer,  till  you  are  only  fifteen 
apart.  You  have,  each  of  you,  five  paces  to  take  and  three 
shots  to  fire — no  more.  Whatever  happens,  that  must  be  the 
end  of  it.  We  load  for  your  antagonist,  and  his  seconds  load 
for  you.  The  weapons  were  chosen  by  the  four  seconds  at  a 
gunmaker's.  We  helped  you  to  a  chance,  I  will  promise  you ; 
horse-pistols  are  to  be  the  weapons." 

For  Lucien,  life  had  become  a  bad  dream.  He  did  not  care 
whether  he  lived  or  died.  The  courage  of  suicide  helped 
him  in  some  sort  to  carry  things  off"  with  a  dash  of  bravado 
before  the  spectators.  He  stood  in  his  place ;  he  would  not 
take  a  step,  a  piece  of  recklessness  which  the  others  took  for 
deliberate  calculation.  They  thought  the  poet  an  uncom- 
monly cool  hand.  Michel  Chrestien  came  as  far  as  his  limit ; 
both  fired  twice  and  at  the  same  time,  for  either  party  was  con- 
sidered to  be  equally  insulted.     Michel's  first  bullet  grazed 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  347 

Lucien's  chin;  Lucien's  passed  ten  feet  above  Chrestien's 
head.  The  second  shot  hit  Lucien's  coat  collar,  but  the 
buckram  lining  fortunately  saved  its  wearer.  The  third  bullet 
struck  him  in  the  chest,  and  he  dropped. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  asked  Michel  Chrestien. 

"No,"  said  the  surgeon,  "he  will  pull  through." 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  answered  Michel. 

"  Yes,  so  much  the  worse,"  said  Lucien,  as  his  tears  fell 
fast. 

By  noon  the  unhappy  boy  lay  in  bed  in  his  own  room. 
With  untold  pains  they  had  managed  to  remove  him,  but  it 
had  taken  five  hours  to  bring  him  to  the  Rue  de  la  Lune.  His 
condition  was  not  dangerous,  but  precautions  were  necessary 
lest  fever  should  set  in  and  bring  about  troublesome  complica- 
tions. Coralie  choked  down  her  grief  and  anguish.  She  sat 
up  with  him  at  night  through  the  anxious  weeks  of  his  illness, 
studying  her  parts  by  his  bedside.  Lucien  was  in  danger  for 
two  long  months  ;  and  often  at  the  theatre  Coralie  acted  her 
frivolous  role  with  one  thought  in  her  heart,  "  Perhaps  he  is 
dying  at  this  moment." 

Lucien  owed  his  life  to  the  skill  and  devotion  of  a  friend 
whom  he  had  grievously  hurt.  Bianchon  had  come  to  tend 
him  after  hearing  the  story  of  the  attack  from  d'Arthez,  who 
told  it  in  confidence  and  excused  the  unhappy  poet.  Bianchon 
suspected  that  d'Arthez  was  generously  trying  to  screen  the 
renegade ;  but  on  questioning  Lucien  during  a  lucid  interval 
in  the  dangerous  nervous  fever,  he  learned  that  his  patient  was 
only  responsible  for  the  one  serious  article  in  Hector  Merlin's 
paper. 

Before  the  first  month  was  out,  the  firm  of  Pendant  and 
Cavalier  filed  their  schedule.  Bianchon  told  Coralie  that 
Lucien  must  on  no  account  hear  the  news.  The  famous 
"Archer  of  Charles  IX.,"  brought  out  with  an  absurd  title, 
had  been  a  complete  failure.  Fendant,  being  anxious  to  re- 
alize a  little  ready  money  before  going  into  bankruptcy,  had 


348  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  FA  HIS. 

sold  the  whole  edition  (without  Cavalier's  knowledge)  to 
dealers  in  printed  paper.  These,  in  their  turn,  had  disposed 
of  it  at  a  cheap  rate  to  hawkers,  and  Lucien's  book  at  that 
moment  was  adorning  the  bookstalls  along  the  quays.  The 
booksellers  on  the  Quai  des  Augustins,  who  had  previously 
taken  a  quantity  of  copies,  now  discovered  that  after  this 
sudden  reduction  of  the  price  they  were  likely  to  lose  heavily 
on  their  purchases;  the  four  duodecimo  volumes,  for  which 
they  had  paid  four  francs  fifty  centimes,  were  being  given 
away  for  fifty  sous.  Great  was  the  outcry  in  the  trade  ;  but 
the  newspapers  preserved  a  profound  silence.  Barbet  had  not 
foreseen  this  "  clearance;  "  he  had  a  belief  in  Lucien's  abili- 
ties ;  for  once  he  had  broken  his  rule  and  taken  two  hundred 
copies.  The  prospect  of  a  loss  drove  him  frantic ;  the  things 
he  said  of  Lucien  were  fearful  to  hear.  Then  Barbet  took  a 
heroic  resolution.  He  stocked  his  copies  in  a  corner  of  his 
store,  with  the  obstinacy  of  greed,  and  left  his  competitors  to 
sell  their  wares  at  a  loss.  Two  years  afterward,  when  d'Ar- 
thez's  fine  preface,  the  merits  of  the  book,  and  one  or  two 
articles  by  Leon  Giraud  had  raised  the  value  of  the  book, 
Barbet  sold  his  copies,  one  by  one,  at  ten  francs  each. 

Lucien  knew  nothing  of  all  this,  but  Berenice  and  Coralie 
could  not  refuse  to  allow  Hector  Merlin  to  see  his  dying  com- 
rade, and  Hector  Merlin  made  him  drink,  drop  by  drop,  the 
whole  of  the  bitter  draught  brewed  by  the  failure  of  Fendant 
and  Cavalier,  made  bankrupts  by  his  first  ill-fated  book.  Mar- 
tainville,  the  one  friend  who  stood  by  Lucien  through  thick 
and  thin,  had  written  a  magnificent  article  on  his  work ;  but  so 
great  was  the  general  exasperation  against  the  editor  of 
"  L'Aristarque,"  "  L'Oriflarame,"  and  "  Le  Drapeau  Blanc," 
that  his  championship  only  injured  Lucien.  In  vain  did  the 
athlete  return  the  Liberal  insults  tenfold,  not  a  newspaper  took 
up  the  challenge  in  spite  of  all  his  attacks. 

Coralie,  Berenice,  and  Bianchon  might  shut  the  door  on 
Lucien's  so-called  friends,  who  raised  a  great  outcry,  but  it  was 


A   PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS.  349 

impossible  to  keep  out  creditors  and  writs.  After  the  failure 
of  Fendant  and  Cavalier,  their  bills  were  taken  into  the  bank- 
ruptcy according  to  that  provision  of  the  Code  of  Commerce 
most  inimical  to  the  claims  of  third  parties,  who  in  this  way 
lose  the  benefit  of  delay. 

Lucien  discovered  that  Camusot  was  proceeding  against 
him  with  great  energy.  When  Coralie  heard  the  name,  and 
for  the  first  time  learned  the  dreadful  and  humiliating  step 
which  her  poet  had  taken  for  her  sake,  the  angelic  creature 
loved  him  ten  times  more  than  before  and  would  not  approach 
Camusot.  The  bailiff  bringing  the  warrant  of  arrest  shrank 
from  the  idea  of  dragging  his  prisoner  out  of  bed,  and  went 
back  to  Camusot  before  applying  to  the  president  of  the  Tri- 
bunal of  Commerce  for  an  order  to  remove  the  debtor  to  a 
private  hospital.  Camusot  hurried  at  once  to  the  Rue  de  la 
Lune,  and  Coralie  went  down  to  him. 

When  she  came  up  again  she  held  the  warrants,  in  which 
Lucien  was  described  as  a  tradesman,  in  her  hand.  How  had 
she  obtained  those  papers  from  Camusot  ?  What  promise  had 
she  given  ?  Coralie  kept  a  sad,  gloomy  silence,  but  when 
she  returned  she  looked  as  if  all  the  life  had  gone  out  of  her. 
She  played  in  Camille  Maupin's  play,  and  contributed  not  a 
little  to  the  success  of  that  illustrious  literary  hermaphrodite ; 
but  the  creation  of  this  character  was  the  last  flicker  of  a 
bright,  dying  lamp.  On  the  twentieth  night,  when  Lucien 
had  so  far  recovered  that  he  had  regained  his  appetite,  and 
could  walk  abroad,  and  talked  of  getting  down  to  work  again, 
Coralie  broke  down  ;  a  secret  trouble  was  weighing  upon  her. 
Berenice  always  believed  that  she  had  promised  to  go  back  to 
Camusot  to  save  Lucien. 

Another  mortification  followed.  Coralie  was  obliged  to 
see  her  part  given  to  Florine.  Nathan  had  threatened  the 
Gymnase  with  war  if  the  management  refused  to  give  the 
vacant  place  to  Coralie's  rival.  Coralie  had  persisted  till  she 
could  play  no  longer,  knowing  that  Florine  was  waiting  to 


350  A  PROVINCIAL   AT  PARIS. 

Step  into  her  place.  She  had  overtasked  her  strength.  The 
Gymnase  had  advanced  sums  during  Lucien's  illness,  she  had 
no  money  to  draw ;  Lucien,  eager  to  work  though  he  was, 
was  not  yet  strong  enough  to  write,  and  he  helped,  beside, 
to  nurse  Coralie  and  to  relieve  Berenice.  From  poverty  they 
had  come  to  utter  distress ;  but  in  Bianchon  they  found  a 
skillful  and  devoted  doctor,  who  obtained  credit  for  them  of 
the  druggist.  The  landlord  of  the  house  and  the  trades- 
people knew  by  this  time  how  matters  stood.  The  furniture 
was  attached.  The  tailor  and  dressmaker  no  longer  stood  in 
awe  of  the  journalist  and  proceeded  to  extremes ;  and  at  last 
no  one,  with  the  exception  of  the  pork-butcher  and  the  drug- 
gist, gave  the  two  unlucky  children  credit.  For  a  week  or 
more  all  three  of  them — Lucien,  Berenice,  and  the  invalid — 
were  obliged  to  live  on  the  various  ingenious  preparations 
sold  by  the  pork -butcher ;  the  inflammatory  diet  was  little 
suited  to  the  sick  girl  and  Coralie  grew  worse.  Sheer  want 
compelled  Lucien  to  ask  Lousteau  for  a  return  of  the  loan  of 
a  thousand  francs  lost  at  play  by  the  friend  who  had  deserted 
him  in  his  hour  of  need.  Perhaps,  amid  all  his  troubles,  this 
step  cost  him  most  cruel  suffering. 

Lousteau  was  not  to  be  found  in  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe. 
Hunted  down  like  a  hare,  he  was  lodging  now  with  this  friend, 
now  with  that.  Lucien  found  him  at  last  at  Flicoteaux's ;  he 
was  sitting  at  the  very  table  at  which  Lucien  had  found  him 
that  evening  when,  for  his  misfortune,  he  forsook  d'Arthez 
for  journalism.  Lousteau  offered  him  dinner  and  Lucien  ac- 
cepted the  offer. 

As  they  came  out  of  Flicoteaux's  with  Claud  Vignon 
(who  happened  to  be  dining  there  that  day)  and  the  great 
man  in  obscurity,  who  kept  his  wardrobe  at  Samanon's,  the 
four  among  them  could  not  produce  enough  specie  to  pay  for 
a  cup  of  coffee  at  the  Cafe  Voltaire.  They  lounged  about  the 
Luxembourg  in  the  hope  of  meeting  with  a  publisher ;  and, 
as  it  fell  out,  they  met  with  one  of  the  most  famous  printers 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  851 

of  the  day.  Lousteau  borrowed  forty  francs  of  him,  and 
divided  the  money  into  four  equal  parts. 

Misery  had  brought  down  Lucien's  pride  and  extinguished 
sentiment ;  he  shed  tears  as  he  told  the  story  of  his  troubles, 
but  each  one  of  his  comrades  had  a  tale  as  cruel  as  his  own ; 
and  when  the  three  versions  had  been  given,  it  seemed  to  the 
poet  that  he  was  the  least  unfortunate  among  the  four.  All  of 
them  craved  a  respite  from  remembrance  and  thoughts  which 
made  trouble  doubly  hard  to  bear. 

Lousteau  hurried  to  the  Palais  Royal  to  gamble  with  his 
remaining  nine  francs.  The  great  man  unknown  to  fame, 
though  he  had  a  divine  mistress,  must  needs  hie  him  to  a  low 
haunt  of  vice  to  wallow  in  perilous  pleasure.  Vignon  betook 
himself  to  the  *'  Rocher  de  Cancale  "  to  drown  memory  and 
thought  in  a  couple  of  bottles  of  Bordeaux ;  Lucien  parted 
company  with  him  on  the  threshold,  declining  to  share  that 
supper.  When  he  shook  hands  with  the  one  journalist  who 
had  not  been  hostile  to  him,  it  was  with  a  cruel  pang  in  his 
heart. 

"  What  shall  I  do?  "  he  asked  aloud. 

"  One  must  do  as  one  can,"  the  great  critic  said.  "  Your 
book  is  good,  but  it  excited  jealousy  and  your  struggle  will 
be  hard  and  long.  Genius  is  a  cruel  disease.  Every  writer 
carries  a  canker  in  his  heart,  a  devouring  monster,  like  the 
tapeworm  in  the  stomach,  which  destroys  all  feeling  as  it 
arises  in  him.  Which  is  the  stronger?  The  man  or  the  dis- 
ease? One  had  need  be  a  great  man,  truly,  to  keep  the 
balance  between  genius  and  character.  The  talent  grows,  the 
heart  withers.  Unless  a  man  is  a  giant,  unless  he  has  the 
thews  of  a  Hercules,  he  must  be  content  either  to  lose  his  gift 
or  to  live  without  a  heart.  You  are  slender  and  fragile,  you 
will  give  way,"  he  added,  as  he  turned  into  the  restaurant. 

Lucien  returned  home,  thinking  over  that  terrible  verdict. 
He  beheld  the  life  of  literature  by  the  light  of  the  profound 
truths  uttered  by  Vignon. 


362  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

"Money!  money!"  a  seeming  voice  cried  in  his  ears; 
ever  **  Money  !  money!  " 

Then  he  drew  three  bills  of  a  thousand  francs  each,  due 
respectively  in  one,  two,  and  three  months,  imitating  the 
handwriting  of  his  brother-in-law,  David  Sechard,  with  ad- 
mirable skill.  He  indorsed  the  bills,  and  took  them  next 
morning  to  Metivier,  the  paper-dealer  in  the  Rue  Serpente, 
who  made  no  difficulty  about  taking  them.  Lucien  wrote  a 
few  lines  to  give  his  brother-in-law  notice  of  this  assault  upon 
his  cash-box,  promising,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  to  be  ready 
to  meet  the  bills  as  they  fell  due. 

When  all  debts,  his  own  and  Coralie's,  were  paid,  he  put 
the  three  hundred  francs  which  remained  into  Berenice's 
hands,  bidding  her  to  refuse  him  money  if  he  asked  her  for  it. 
He  was  afraid  of  a  return  of  the  gambler's  frenzy.  Lucien 
worked  away  gloomily  in  a  sort  of  cold,  speechless  fury, 
putting  forth  all  his  powers  into  witty  articles,  written  by  the 
light  of  the  lamp  at  Coralie's  bedside.  Whenever  he  looked 
up  in  search  of  ideas,  his  eyes  fell  on  that  beloved  face,  white 
as  porcelain,  fair  with  the  beauty  that  belongs  to  the  dying, 
and  he  saw  a  smile  on  her  pale  lips,  and  her  eyes,  grown 
bright  with  a  more  consuming  pain  than  physical  suffering, 
always  turned  on  his  face. 

Lucien  sent  in  his  work,  but  he  could  not  leave  the  house 
to  worry  editors,  and  his  articles  did  not  appear.  When  he  at 
last  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  the  office,  he  met  with  a  cool 
reception  from  Theodore  Gaillard,  who  had  advanced  him 
money,  and  turned  his  literary  diamonds  to  good  account 
afterward. 

**  Take  care,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  falling  off,"  he  said. 
"You  must  not  let  yourself  down,  your  work  wants  inspira- 
tion !  " 

"  That  little  Lucien  has  written  himself  out  with  his  romance 
and  his  first  articles,"  cried  Felicien  Vernou,  Merlin,  and 
the  whole  chorus  of  his  enemies,  whenever  his  name  came  up 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  353 

«• 
at  Dauriat's  or  the  Vaudeville.     "  The  work  he  is  sending  us 

is  pitiable." 

"To  have  written  one's  self  out"  (in  the  slang  of  journalism) 
is  a  verdict  very  hard  to  live  down.  It  passed  everywhere 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  ruining  Lucien,  all  unsuspicious  as 
he  was.  And,  indeed,  his  burdens  were  too  heavy  for  his 
strength.  In  the  midst  of  a  heavy  strain  of  work,  he  was 
sued  for  the  bills  which  he  had  drawn  in  David  Sechard's 
name.  He  had  recourse  to  Camusot's  experience,  and  Cora- 
lie's  sometime  adorer  was  generous  enough  to  assist  the  man 
she  loved.  The  intolerable  situation  lasted  for  two  whole 
months ;  the  days  being  diversified  by  stamped  papers  in 
abundance,  which  Lucien  (acting  on  Camusot's  advice)  handed 
over  to  Desroches,  a  friend  of  Bixiou,  Blondet,  and  des  Lu- 
peaulx. 

Early  in  August,  Bianchon  told  them  that  Coralie's  condi- 
tion was  hopeless — she  had  only  a  few  days  to  live.  Those 
days  were  spent  in  tears  by  Berenice  and  Lucien  ;  they  could 
not  hide  their  grief  from  the  dying  girl,  and  she  was  broken- 
hearted for  Lucien 's  sake. 

Some  strange  change  was  working  in  Coralie.  She  would 
have  Lucien  bring  a  priest ;  she  must  be  reconciled  to  the 
church  and  die  in  peace.  Coralie  died  as  a  Christian  ;  her 
repentance  was  sincere.  Her  agony  and  death  took  all  energy 
and  heart  out  of  Lucien.  He  sank  into  a  low  chair  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  and  never  took  his  eyes  off  her  till  death 
brought  the  end  of  her  suffering.  It  was  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  Some  singing-bird,  lighting  upon  a  flower-pot  on 
the  window-sill,  twittered  a  few  notes.  Berenice,  kneeling 
by  the  bedside,  was  covering  a  hand  fast  growing  cold  with 
kisses  and  tears.     On  the  chimney-piece  there  lay  eleven  sous. 

Lucien  went  out.  Despair  bade  him  beg  for  money  to  lay 
Coralie  in  her  grave.  He  had  wild  thoughts  of  flinging  him- 
self at  the  Marquise  d'Espard's  feet,  of  entreating  the  Corate 
du  Chatelet,  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  Mile,  des  Touches,  nay,  that 
23 


354  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

terrible  dandy  of  a  de  Marsay.  All  his  pride  had  gone  with 
his  strength.  He  would  have  enlisted  as  a  common  soldier  at 
that  moment  for  money.  He  walked  on  with  the  slouching, 
feverish  gait  known  to  all  the  unhappy,  reached  Camille 
Maupin's  house,  entered,  careless  of  his  disordered  dress,  and 
sent  in  a  message.  He  entreated  Mile,  des  Touches  to  see 
him  for  a  moment. 

"  Mademoiselle  only  went  to  bed  at  three  o'clock  this 
morning,"  said  the  servant,  *'  and  no  one  would  dare  to 
disturb  her  until  she  rings." 

**  When  does  she  ring  ?  " 

"  Never  before  ten  o'clock." 

Then  Lucien  wrote  one  of  those  harrowing  appeals  in 
which  the  well-dressed  beggar  flings  all  pride  and  self-respect 
to  the  winds.  One  evening,  not  so  very  long  ago,  when 
Lousteau  had  told  him  of  the  abject  begging-letters  which 
Finot  received,  Lucien  had  thought  it  impossible  that  any 
creature  should  sink  so  low;  and  now,  carried  away  by  his 
pen,  he  had  gone  further,  it  may  be,  than  other  unlucky 
wretches  upon  the  same  road.  He  did  not  suspect,  in  his 
fever  and  imbecility,  that  he  had  just  written  a  masterpiece 
of  pathos.  On  his  way  home  along  the  boulevards  he  met 
Barbet. 

**  Barbet !  "  he  begged,  holding  out  his  hand.  *'  Five  hun- 
dred francs !  " 

"No.     Two  hundred,"  returned  the  other. 

**  Ah  !  then  you  have  a  heart." 

"Yes;  but  I  am  a  man  of  business  as  well.  I  have  lost  a 
lot  of  money  through  you,"  he  concluded,  after  giving  the 
history  of  the  failure  of  Fendant  and  Cavalier,  "  will  you  put 
me  in  the  way  of  making  some?  " 

Lucien  quivered. 

"You  are  a  poet.  You  ought  to  understand  all  kinds  of 
poetry,"  continued  the  little  publisher.  "  I  want  a  few  rollick- 
ing songs  at  this  moment  to  put  along  with  some  more  by 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  355 

«- 
different  authors,  or  they  will  be  down  upon  me  over  the  copy- 
right. I  want  to  have  a  good  collection  to  sell  on  the  streets 
at  ten  sous.  If  you  care  to  let  me  have  ten  good  drinking- 
songs  by  to-morrow  morning,  or  something  spicy,  you  know 
the  sort  of  thing,  eh?  I  will  pay  you  two  hundred  francs." 

When  Lucien  returned  home,  he  found  Coralie  stretched 
out  straight  and  stiff  on  a  pallet-bed ;  Berenice,  with  many 
tears,  had  wrapped  her  in  a  coarse  linen  sheet  and  put  lighted 
candles  at  the  four  corners  of  the  bed.  Coralie's  face  had 
taken  that  strange,  delicate  beauty  of  death  which  so  vividly 
impresses  the  living  with  the  idea  of  absolute  calm ;  she  looked 
like  some  white  girl  in  a  decline ;  it  seemed  as  if  those  pale, 
crimson  lips  must  open  and  murmur  the  name  which  had 
blended  with  the  name  of  God  in  the  last  words  that  she 
uttered  before  she  died. 

Lucien  told  Berenice  to  order  a  funeral  which  should  not 
cost  more  than  two  hundred  francs,  including  the  service 
at  the  shabby  little  church  of  the  Bonne-Nouvelle.  As  soon 
as  she  had  gone  out,  he  sat  down  to  a  table,  and,  beside  the 
dead  body  of  his  love,  he  composed,  the  ten  rollicking  songs 
to  fit  popular  airs.  The  effort  cost  him  untold  anguish,  but 
at  last  the  brain  began  to  work  at  the  bidding  of  necessity,  as 
if  suffering  were  not;  and  already  Lucien  had  learned  to  put 
Claud  Vignon's  terrible  maxims  in  practice  and  to  raise  a 
barrier  between  heart  and  brain.  What  a  night  the  poor  boy 
spent  over  those  drinking-songs,  writing  by  the  light  of  the 
tall  wax-candles  while  the  priest  recited  the  prayers  for  the 
dead  ! 

Morning  broke  before  the  last  song  was  finished.  Lucien 
tried  it  over  to  a  street-song  of  the  day,  to  the  consternation  of 
Berenice  and  the  priest,  who  thought  that  he  was  mad  : 

"  Lads,  'tis  tedious  waste  of  time 
To  mingle  song  and  reason ; 
Folly  calls  for  laughing  rhyme 
Sense  is  out  of  season. 


356  A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS. 

Let  Apollo  be  forgot 

When  Bacchus  fills  the  drinking  cup ; 
And  any  catch  is  good  I  wot, 
If  good  fellows  take  it  up. 
Let  philosophers  protest. 
Let  us  laugh, 
And  quaff, 
And  a  fig  for  the  rest ! 

"  As  Hippocrates  has  said. 
Every  jolly  fellow. 
When  a  century  has  sped. 
Still  is  fit  and  mellow. 
No  more  following  of  a  lass 

With  the  palsy  in  your  legs  ? — 
While  your  hand  can  hold  a  glass. 
You  can  drain  it  to  the  dregs. 
With  an  undiminished  zest. 
Let  us  laugh. 
And  quaff. 
And  a  fig  for  the  rest. 

"Whence we  come  we  know  full  well. 
Whither  are  we  going  ? 
Ne'er  a  one  of  us  can  tell, 
'Tis  a  thing  past  knowing. 
Faith  what  does  it  signify, 

Take  the  good  that  heaven  sends ; 
It  is  certain  that  we  die, 

Certain  that  we  live,  my  friends. 
Life  is  nothing  but  a  jest. 
Let  us  laugh, 
And  quaff, 
And  a  fig  for  the  rest !" 

He  was  shouting  the  reckless  refrain  when  d'Arthez  and 
Bianchon  arrived,  to  find  him  in  a  paroxysm  of  despair  and 
exhaustion,  utterly  unable  to  make  a  fair  copy  of  his  verses. 
A  torrent  of  tears  followed ;  and  when,  amid  his  sobs,  he  had 


A   PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  357 

told  his  pitiful  story,"  he  saw  the  tears  standing  in  his  friends' 
eyes. 

**  This  wipes  out  many  sins,"  said  d'Arthez. 

"Happy  are  they  who  suffer  for  their  sins  in  this  world," 
the  priest  said  solemnly. 

At  the  sight  of  the  fair,  dead  face  smiling  at  eternity,  while 
Coralie's  lover  wrote  tavern-catches  to  buy  a  grave  for  her, 
and  Barbet  paid  for  the  coffin — of  the  four  candles  lighted 
about  the  dead  body  of  her  who  had  thrilled  a  great  audience 
as  she  stood  behind  the  footlights  in  her  Spanish  basquina  and 
scarlet,  green-clocked  stockings ;  while  beyond,  in  the  door- 
way, stood  the  priest  who  had  reconciled  the  dying  actress 
with  God,  now  about  to  return  to  the  church  to  say  a  mass  for 
the  soul  of  her  who  had  "loved  much" — all  the  grandeur 
and  the  sordid  aspects  of  the  scene,  all  that  sorrow  crushed 
under  by  necessity,  froze  the  blood  of  the  great  writer  and 
the  great  doctor.  They  sat  down ;  neither  of  them  could 
utter  a  word. 

Just  at  that  moment  a  servant  in  livery  announced  Mile, 
des  Touches.  That  beautiful  and  noble  woman  understood 
everything  at  once.  She  stepped  quickly  across  the  room  to 
Lucien,  and  slipped  two  thousand-franc  notes  into  his  hand 
as  she  grasped  it. 

"It  is  too  late,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  her  with  dull,  hope- 
less eyes. 

The  three  stayed  with  Lucien,  trying  to  soothe  his  despair 
with  comforting  words ;  but  every  spring  seemed  to  be  broken. 
At  noon  all  the  brotherhood,  with  the  exception  of  Michel 
Chrestien  (who,  however,  had  learned  the  truth  as  to  Lucien's 
treachery),  was  assembled  in  the  poor  little  church  of  the 
Bonne-Nouvelle ;  Mile,  des  Touches  was  present,  and  Berenice 
and  Coralie's  dresser  from  the  theatre,  with  a  couple  of  super- 
numeraries, and  the  disconsolate  Camusot.  All  the  men 
accompanied  the  actress  to  her  last  resting-place  in  Pdre 
Lachaise.     Camusot,  shedding  hot  tears,  had  solemnly  prom- 


358  A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS, 

ised  Lucien  to  buy  the  grave  in  perpetuity,  and  to  put  a 
headstone  above  it  with  the  words : 

CORALIE 

Aged  Nineteen  Years 

August,  1822. 

Lucien  stayed  there,  on  the  sloping  ground  that  looks  out 
over  Paris,  until  the  sun  had  set. 

**  Who  will  love  me  now?"  he  thought.  "My  truest 
friends  despise  me.  Whatever  I  might  have  done,  she  who 
lies  here  would  have  thought  me  wholly  noble  and  good.  I 
have  no  one  left  to  me  now  but  my  sister  and  mother  and 
David.     And  what  do  they  think  of  me  at  home  ?  " 

Poor  distinguished  provincial !  He  went  back  to  the  Rue 
de  la  Lune;  but  the  sight  of  the  rooms  was  so  acutely 
painful  that  he  could  not  stay  in  them,  and  he  took  a  cheap 
lodging  elsewhere  in  the  same  street.  Mile,  des  Touches' 
two  thousand  francs  and  the  sale  of  the  furniture  paid  the 
debts. 

B6r6nice  had  two  hundred  francs  left,  on  whicfi  they  lived 
for  two  months.  Lucien  was  prostrate;  he  could  neither 
write  nor  think;  he  gave  way  to  morbid  grief.  B6r6nice  took 
pity  upon  him. 

"  Suppose  that  you  were  to  go  back  to  your  own  country, 
how  are  you  to  get  there  ?  ' '  she  asked  one  day,  by  way  of 
reply  to  an  exclamation  of  Lucien 's. 

"On  foot." 

**  But  even  so,  you  must  live  and  sleep  on  the  way.  Even 
if  you  walk  twelve  leagues  a  day,  you  will  want  twenty  francs 
at  least." 

**  I  will  get  them  together,"  he  said. 

He  took  his  clothes  and  his  best  linen,  keeping  nothing 
but  strict  necessaries,  and  went  to  Samanon,  who  offered  fifty 
francs  for  his  entire  wardrobe.     In  vain  he  begged  the  money- 


A  PROVINCIAL  AT  PARIS.  359 

lender  to  let  him  have  enough  to  pay  his  fare  by  the  coach ; 
Samanon  was  inexorable.  In  a  paroxysm  of  fury,  Lucien 
rushed  to  Frascati's,  staked  the  proceeds  of  the  sale,  and  lost 
every  farthing.  Back  once  more  in  the  wretched  room  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Lune,  he  asked  Berenice  for  Coralie's  shawl. 
The  good  girl  looked  at  him  and  knew  in  a  moment  what  he 
meant  to  do.  He  had  confessed  to  his  loss  at  the  gaming- 
table ;  and  now  he  was  going  to  hang  himself. 

"  Are  you  mad,  sir  ?  Go  out  for  a  walk,  and  come  back 
again  at  midnight.  I  will  get  the  money  for  you ;  but  keep 
to  the  boulevards,  do  not  go  toward  the  quais." 

Lucien  paced  up  and  down  the  boulevards.  He  was  stupid 
with  grief.  He  watched  the  passers-by  and  the  stream  of 
traffic,  and  felt  that  he  was  alone  and  a  very  small  atom  in 
this  seething  whirlpool  of  Paris,  churned  by  the  strife  of  in- 
numerable interests.  His  thoughts  went  back  to  the  banks 
of  his  Charente  ;  a  craving  for  happiness  and  home  awoke 
in  him  ;  and  with  the  craving  came  one  of  the  febrile  bursts 
of  energy  which  half-feminine  natures  like  his  mistake  for 
strength.  He  would  not  give  up  until  he  had  poured  out  his 
heart  to  David  Sechard,  and  taken  counsel  of  the  three  good 
angels  still  left  to  him  on  earth. 

As  he  lounged  along,  he  caught  sight  of  Berenice— B6r6nice 
in  her  Sunday  clothes,  speaking  to  a  stranger  at  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  de  la  Lune  and  the  filthy  Boulevard  Bonne-Nouvelle, 
where  she  had  taken  her  stand. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  asked  Lucien,  dismayed  by  a 
sudden  suspicion. 

"  Here  are  your  twenty  francs,"  said  the  girl,  slipping  four 
five-franc  pieces  into  the  poet's  hand.  "  They  may  cost  dear 
yet;  but  you  can  go,"  and  she  had  fled  before  Lucien  could 
see  the  way  she  went ;  for,  in  justice  to  him,  it  must  be  said 
that  the  money  burned  his  hand,  he  wanted  to  return  it,  but 
he  was  forced  to  keep  it,  as  the  final  brand  set  upon  him  by 
life  in  Paris.  Paris,  1839. 


Z.   MARCAS. 

Translated  by  Clara  Bbli,. 

To  His  Highness  Count  William  of  Wurtemberg,  as 
a  token  of  the  author' s  respectful  gratitude. 

De  Balzac. 

I  NEVER  saw  anybody,  not  even  among  the  most  remark- 
able men  of  the  day,  whose  appearance  was  so  striking  as  this 
man's ;  the  study  of  his  countenance  at  first  gave  me  a  feeling 
of  great  melancholy,  and  at  last  produced  an  almost  painful 
impression. 

There  was  a  certain  harmony  between  the  man  and  his 
name.  The  Z.  preceding  Marcas,  which  was  seen  on  the 
addresses  of  his  letters,  and  which  he  never  omitted  from  his 
signature,  as  the  last  letter  of  the  alphabet,  suggested  some 
mysterious  fatality. 

Marcas  !  say  this  two-syllabled  name  again  and  again ;  do 
you  not  feel  as  if  it  had  some  sinister  meaning  ?  Does  it  not 
seem  to  you  that  its  owner  must  be  doomed  to  martyrdom? 
Though  foreign,  savage,  the  name  has  a  right  to  be  handed 
down  to  posterity;  it  is  well  constructed,  easily  pronounced, 
and  has  the  brevity  that  beseems  a  famous  name.  Is  it  not 
pleasant  as  well  as  odd  ?     But  does  it  not  sound  unfinished  ? 

I  will  not  take  it  upon  myself  to  assert  that  names  have  no 
influence  on  the  destiny  of  men.  There  is  a  certain  secret 
and  inexplicable  concord  or  a  visible  discord  between  the 
events  of  a  man's  life  and  his  name  which  is  truly  surprising; 
often  some  remote  but  very  real  correlation  is  revealed.  Our 
globe  is  round ;  everything  is  linked  to  everything  else. 
Some  day  perhaps  we  shall  revert  to  the  occult  sciences. 
(360) 


Z.  MARCAS.  861 

Do  you  not  dtscem  in  that  letter  Z  an  adverse  influence  ? 
Does  it  not  prefigure  the  wayward  and  fantastic  progress  of  a 
storm-tossed  life?  What  wind  blew  on  that  letter,  which, 
whatever  language  we  find  it  in,  begins  scarcely  fifty  words  ? 
Marcas'  name  was  Zephirin  ;  Saint  Zephirin  is  highly  vener- 
ated in  Brittany,  and  Marcas  was  a  Breton. 

Study  the  name  once  more  :  Z.  Marcas  !  The  man's  whole 
life  lies  in  this  fantastic  juxtaposition  of  seven  letters  j  seven  ! 
the  most  significant  of  all  the  cabalistic  numbers.  And  he 
died  at  five-and-thirty,  so  his  life  extended  over  seven  lustres. 

Marcas  !  Does  it  not  hint  of  some  precious  object  that  is 
broken  by  a  fall,  with  or  without  a  crash  ? 

I  had  finished  studying  the  law  in  Paris  in  1836.  I  lived 
at  that  time  in  the  Rue  Corneille,  in  a  house  where  none  but 
students  came  to  lodge,  one  of  those  large  houses  where  there 
is  a  winding  staircase  quite  at  the  back,  lighted  below  from 
the  street,  higher  up  by  borrowed  lights,  and  at  the  top  by  a 
skylight.  There  were  forty  furnished  rooms — furnished  as 
students'  rooms  are  !  What  does  youth  demand  more  than 
was  here  supplied  ?  A  bed,  a  few  chairs,  a  chest  of  drawers, 
a  looking-glass  and  a  table.  As  soon  as  the  sky  is  blue  the 
student  opens  his  window. 

But  in  this  street  there  are  no  fair  neighbors  to  flirt  with. 
In  front  is  the  Odeon,  long  since  closed,  presenting  a  wall 
that  is  beginning  to  go  black,  its  tiny  gallery  windows  and  its 
vast  expanse  of  slate  roof.  I  was  not  rich  enough  to  have  a 
good  room  ;  I  was  not  even  rich  enough  to  have  a  room  to 
myself.  Juste  and  I  shared  a  double-bedded  room  on  the  fifth 
floor. 

On  our  side  of  the  landing  there  were  but  two  rooms — ours 
and  a  smaller  one  occupied  by  Z.  Marcas,  our  neighbor.  For 
six  months  Juste  and  I  remained  in  perfect  ignorance  of  the 
fact.  The  old  woman  who  managed  the  house  had  indeed 
told  us  that  the  room  was  inhabited,  but  she  had  added  that 


868  Z.   MARCAS. 

we  should  not  be  disturbed,  that  the  occupant  was  exceedingly 
quiet.  In  fact,  for  those  six  months,  we  never  met  our  fellow- 
lodger,  and  we  never  heard  a  sound  in  his  room,  in  spite  of 
the  thinness  of  the  partition  that  divided  us — one  of  those 
walls  of  lath  and  plaster  which  are  common  in  Paris  houses. 

Our  room,  a  little  over  seven  feet  high,  was  hung  with  a 
vile  cheap  paper  sprigged  with  blue.  The  floor  was  painted, 
and  knew  nothing  of  the  polish  given  by  the  rubber's  brush. 
By  our  beds  there  was  only  a  scrap  of  thin  carpet.  The 
chimney  opened  immediately  to  the  roof,  and  smoked  so 
abominably  that  we  were  obliged  to  provide  a  stove  at  our 
own  expense.  Our  beds  were  mere  painted  wooden  cribs  like 
those  in  schools;  on  the  chimney-shelf  there  were  but  two 
brass  candlesticks,  with  or  without  tallow  candles  in  them, 
and  our  two  pipes  with  some  tobacco  in  a  pouch  or  strewn 
abroad,  also  the  little  piles  of  cigar-ash  left  there  by  our  vis- 
itors or  ourselves. 

A  pair  of  calico  curtains  hung  from  the  brass  window-rods, 
and  on  each  side  of  the  window  was  a  small  bookcase  in 
cherry-wood,  such  as  every  one  knows  who  has  stared  into 
the  shop  windows  of  the  Quartier  Latin,  and  in  which  we 
kept  the  few  books  necessary  for  our  studies. 

The  ink  in  the  inkstand  was  always  in  the  state  of  lava  con- 
gealed in  the  crater  of  a  volcano.  May  not  any  inkstand 
nowadays  become  a  Vesuvius  ?  The  pens,  all  twisted,  served 
to  clean  the  stems  of  our  pipes  ;  and,  in  opposition  to  all  the 
laws  of  credit,  paper  was  even  scarcer  than  coin. 

How  can  young  men  be  expected  to  stay  at  home  in  such 
furnished  lodgings  ?  The  students  studied  in  the  cafes,  the 
theatre,  the  Luxembourg  gardens,  in  grisettes'  rooms,  even  in 
the  law  schools — anywhere  rather  than  in  their  horrible  rooms 
— horrible  for  purposes  of  study,  delightful  as  soon  as  they 
are  used  for  gossiping  and  smoking  in.  Put  a  cloth  on  the 
table,  and  the  impromptu  dinner  sent  in  from  the  best  eating- 
house  in  the  neighborhood — places  for  four — two  of  them  in 


^  Z.   MARCAS.  363 

,  *• 

petticoats — show  a  lithograph  of  this  "  Interior  "  to  the  veriest 

bigot,  and  she  will  be  bound  to  smile. 

We  thought  only  of  amusing  ourselves.  The  reason  for  our 
dissipation  lay  in  the  most  serious  facts  of  the  politics  of  the 
time.  Juste  and  I  could  not  see  any  room  for  us  in  the  two 
professions  our  parents  wished  us  to  take  up.  There  are  a 
hundred  doctors,  a  hundred  lawyers,  for  one  that  is  wanted. 
The  crowd  is  choking  these  two  paths  which  are  supposed  to 
lead  to  fortune,  but  which  are  merely  two  arenas ;  men  kill 
each  other  there,  fighting,  not  indeed  with  swords  or  firearms, 
but  with  intrigue  and  calumny,  with  tremendous  toil,  cam- 
paigns in  the  sphere  of  the  intellect  as  murderous  as  those  in 
Italy  were  to  the  soldiers  of  the  republic.  In  these  days, 
when  everything  is  an  intellectual  competition,  a  man  must 
be  able  to  sit  forty-eight  hours  on  end  in  his  chair  before  a 
table,  as  a  general  could  remain  for  two  days  on  horseback 
and  in  his  saddle. 

The  throng  of  aspirants  has  necessitated  a  division  of  the 
faculty  of  medicine  into  categories.  There  is  the  physician 
who  writes  and  the  physician  who  practices,  the  political 
physician  and  the  physician  militant — four  different  ways  of 
being  a  physician,  four  classes  already  filled  up.  As  to  the 
fifth  class,  that  of  physicians  who  sell  remedies,  there  is  such 
a  competition  that  they  fight  each  other  with  disgusting  ad- 
vertisements on  the  walls  of  Paris. 

In  all  the  law  courts  there  are  almost  as  many  lawyers  as 
there  are  cases.  The  pleader  is  thrown  back  on  journalism, 
on  politics,  on  literature.  In  fact,  the  state,  besieged  for  the 
smallest  appointments  under  the  law,  has  ended  by  requiring 
that  the  applicants  should  have  some  little  fortune.  The  pear- 
shaped  head  of  the  grocer's  son  is  selected  in  preference  to 
the  square  skull  of  a  man  of  talent  who  has  not  a  sou.  Work 
as  he  will,  with  all  his  energy,  a  young  man,  starting  from 
zero,  may  at  the  end  of  ten  years  find  himself  below  the  point 
he  set  out  from.     In  these  days,  talent  must  have  the  good- 


364  Z.   MARCAS. 

luck  which  secures  success  to  the  most  incapable  ;  nay  more, 
if  it  scorns  the  base  compromises  which  insure  advancement 
to  crawling  mediocrity,  it  will  never  get  on. 

If  we  thoroughly  knew  our  time,  we  also  knew  ourselves, 
and  we  preferred  the  indolence  of  dreamers  to  aimless  stir, 
easy-going  pleasure  to  the  useless  toil  which  would  have  ex- 
hausted our  courage  and  worn  out  the  edge  of  our  intelligence. 
We  had  analyzed  social  life  while  smoking,  laughing,  and  loaf- 
ing. But,  though  elaborated  by  such  means  as  these,  our  re- 
flections were  none  the  less  judicious  and  profound. 

While  we  were  fully  conscious  of  the  slavery  to  which  youth 
is  condemned,  we  were  amazed  at  the  brutal  indifference  of  the 
authorities  to  everything  connected  with  intellect,  thought, 
and  poetry.  How  often  have  Juste  and  I  exchanged  glances 
when  reading  the  papers  as  we  studied  political  events,  or  the 
debates  in  the  Chamber,  and  discussed  the  proceedings  of  a 
court  whose  willful  ignorance  could  find  no  parallel  but  in 
the  platitude  of  the  courtiers,  the  mediocrity  of  the  men  form- 
ing the  hedge  round  the  newly  restored  throne,  all  alike  de- 
void of  talent  or  breadth  of  view,  of  distinction  or  learning, 
of  influence  or  dignity  ! 

Could  there  be  a  higher  tribute  to  the  court  of  Charles  X. 
than  the  present  court,  if  court  it  may  be  called?  What  a 
hatred  of  the  country  may  be  seen  in  the  naturalization  of 
vulgar  foreigners,  devoid  of  talent,  who  are  enthroned  in  the 
Chamber  of  Peers  !  What  a  perversion  of  justice  !  What  an 
insult  to  the  distinguished  youth,  the  ambitions  native  to  the 
soil  of  France  !  We  looked  upon  these  things  as  upon  a  spec- 
tacle, and  groaned  over  them,  without  taking  upon  ourselves 
to  act. 

Juste,  whom  no  one  ever  sought,  and  who  never  sought  any 
one,  was,  at  five-and-twenty,  a  great  politician,  a  man  with  a 
wonderful  aptitude  for  apprehending  the  correlation  between 
remote  history  and  the  facts  of  the  present  and  of  the  future. 
In  1 83 1,  he  told  me  exactly  what  would  and  did  happen — 


^  Z.  MARCAS.  365 

«■ 
the  murders,  the  conspiracies,  the  ascendency  of  the  Jews, 
the  difficulty  of  doing  anything  in  France,  the  scarcity  of 
talent  in  the  higher  circles,  and  the  abundance  of  intellect  in 
the  lowest  ranks,  where  the  finest  courage  is  smothered  under 
cigar  ashes. 

What  was  to  become  of  him  ?  His  parents  wished  him  to 
be  a  doctor.  But  if  he  were  a  doctor,  must  he  not  wait 
twenty  years  for  a  practice  ?  You  know  what  he  did  ?  No  ? 
Well,  he  is  a  doctor ;  but  he  left  France,  he  is  in  Asia.  At 
this  moment  he  is  perhaps  sinking  under  fatigue  in  a  desert, 
or  dying  of  the  lashes  of  a  barbarous  horde — or  perhaps  he  is 
some  Indian  prince's  prime  minister. 

Action  is  my  vocation.  Leaving  a  civil  college  at  the  age 
of  twenty,  the  only  way  for  me  to  enter  the  army  was  by 
enlisting  as  a  common  soldier ;  so  weary  of  the  dismal  out- 
look that  lay  before  a  lawyer,  I  acquired  the  knowledge  needed 
for  a  sailor.  I  imitate  Juste,  and  keep  out  of  France,  where 
men  waste,  in  the  struggle  to  make  way,  the  energy  needed 
for  the  noblest  works.  Follow  my  example,  friends;  I  am 
going  where  a  man  steers  his  destiny  as  he  pleases ;  is  his  own 
navigator. 

These  great  resolutions  were  formed  in  the  little  room  in 
the  lodging-house  in  the  Rue  Corneille,  in  spite  of  our  haunt- 
ing the  Bal  Musard,  flirting  with  girls  of  the  town,  and  lead- 
ing a  careless  and  apparently  reckless  life.  Our  plans  and 
arguments  long  floated  in  the  air. 

Marcas,  our  neighbor,  was  in  some  degree  the  guide  who 
led  us  to  the  margin  of  the  precipice  or  the  torrent,  who  made 
us  sound  it,  and  showed  us  beforehand  what  our  fate  would 
be  if  we  let  ourselves  fall  into  it.  It  was  he  who  put  us  on 
our  guard  against  the  time-bargains  a  man  makes  with  poverty 
under  the  sanction  of  hope,  by  accepting  precarious  situations 
whence  he  fights  the  battle,  carried  along  by  the  devious  tide 
of  Paris — that  great  harlot  who  takes  you  up  or  leaves  you 
stranded,  smiles  or  turns  her  back  on  you  with  equal  readiness. 


366  Z.  MARCAS. 

wears  out  the  strongest  will  in  vexatious  waiting,  and  makes 
misfortune  wait  on  chance. 

At  our  first  meeting,  Marcas,  as  it  were,  dazzled  us.  On 
our  return  from  the  schools,  a  little  before  the  dinner-hour, 
we  were  accustomed  to  go  up  to  our  room  and  remain  there  a 
while,  either  waiting  for  the  other,  to  learn  whether  there 
were  any  change  in  our  plans  for  the  evening.  One  day,  at 
four  o'clock,  Juste  met  Marcas  on  the  stairs,  and  I  saw  him 
in  the  street.  It  was  in  the  month  of  November,  and  Marcas 
had  no  cloak ;  he  wore  shoes  with  heavy  soles,  corduroy  trous- 
ers, and  a  blue  double-breasted  coat  buttoned  to  the  throat, 
which  gave  a  military  air  to  his  broad  chest,  ail  the  more  so 
because  he  wore  a  black  stock.  The  costume  was  not  in  itself 
extraordinary,  but  it  agreed  well  with  the  man's  mien  and 
countenance. 

My  first  impression  on  seeing  him  was  neither  surprise,  nor 
distress,  nor  interest,  nor  pity,  but  curiosity  mingled  with  all 
these  feelings.  He  walked  slowly,  with  a  step  that  betrayed 
deep  melancholy,  his  head  forward  with  a  stoop,  but  not  bent 
like  that  of  a  conscience-stricken  man.  That  head,  large  and 
powerful,  which  might  contain  the  treasures  necessary  for  a 
man  of  the  highest  ambition,  looked  as  if  it  were  loaded  with 
thought ;  it  was  weighted  with  grief  of  mind,  but  there  was 
no  touch  of  remorse  in  his  expression.  As  to  his  face,  it  may 
be  summed  up  in  a  word.  A  common  superstition  has  it 
that  every  human  countenance  resembles  some  animal.  The 
animal  for  Marcas  was  the  lion.  His  hair  was  like  a 
mane,  his  nose  was  short  and  flat,  broad  and  dented  at  the 
tip  like  a  lion's ;  his  brow,  like  a  lion's,  was  strongly  marked 
with  a  deep  median  furrow,  dividing  two  powerful  bosses. 
His  high,  hairy  cheek-bones,  all  the  more  prominent  because 
his  cheeks  were  so  thin,  his  enormous  mouth  and  hollow  jaws, 
were  accentuated  by  lines  of  haughty  significance,  and  marked 
by  a  complexion  full  of  tawny  shadows.     This  almost  terrible 


Z.   MARCAS.  367 

countenance  seemed  illuminated  by  two  lamps — two  eyes, 
black  indeed,  but  infinitely  sweet,  calm  and  deep,  full  of 
thought.  If  I  may  say  so,  those  eyes  had  a  humiliated  expres- 
sion. 

Marcas  was  afraid  of  looking  directly  at  others,  not  for  him- 
self, but  for  those  on  whom  his  fascinating  gaze  might  rest ;  he 
had  a  power,  and  he  shunned  using  it ;  he  would  spare  those  he 
met,  and  he  feared  notice.  This  was  not  from  modesty,  but  from 
resignation — not  Christian  resignation,  which  implies  charity, 
but  resignation  founded  on  reason,  which  had  demonstrated 
the  immediate  inutility  of  his  gifts,  the  impossibility  of  enter- 
ing and  living  in  the  sphere  for  which  he  was  fitted.  Those 
eyes  could  at  times  flash  lightnings.  From  those  lips  a  voice 
of  thunder  must  surely  proceed ;  it  was  a  mouth  like  Mira- 
beau's. 

•*  I  have  seen  such  a  grand  fellow  in  the  street,"  said  I  to 
Juste  on  coming  in. 

**  It  must  be  our  neighbor,"  replied  Juste,  who  described, 
in  fact,  the  man  I  had  just  met.  "A  man  who  lives  like  a 
wood-louse  would  be  sure  to  look  like  that,"  he  added. 

**  What  dejection  and  what  dignity !  " 

"One  is  the  consequence  of  the  other." 

"  What  ruined  hopes  !     What  schemes  and  failures  !  " 

*'  Seven  leagues  of  ruins !  Obelisks — palaces — towers ! — 
The  ruins  of  Palmyra  in  the  desert !  "  said  Juste,  laughing. 

So  we  called  him  the  Ruins  of  Palmyra. 

As  we  went  out  to  dine  at  the  wretched  eating-house  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Harpe  to  which  we  subscribed,  we  asked  the  name 
of  Number  37,  and  then  heard  the  weird  name  Z.  Marcas. 
Like  boys,  as  we  were,  we  repeated  it  more  than  a  hundred 
times  with  all  sorts  of  comments,  absurd  or  melancholy,  and 
the  name  lent  itself  to  the  jest.  Juste  would  fire  off  the  Z 
like  a  rocket  rising,  z-z-z-z-zed ;  and  after  pronouncing  the 
first  syllable  of  the  name  with  great  importance,  depicted  a 
fall  by  the  dull  brevity  of  the  second. 


868  Z.  MARCAS. 

*'  Now,  how  and  where  does  the  man  live?  " 

From  this  query,  to  the  innocent  espionage  of  curiosity 
there  was  no  pause  but  that  required  for  carrying  out  our 
plan.  Instead  of  loitering  about  the  streets,  we  both  came 
in,  each  armed  with  a  novel.  We  read  with  our  ears  open. 
And  in  the  perfect  silence  of  our  attic  rooms,  we  heard  the 
even,  dull  sound  of  a  sleeping  man  breathing. 

**  He  is  asleep,"  said  I  to  Juste,  noticing  this  fact. 

"  At  seven  o'clock  !  "  replied  the  doctor. 

This  was  the  name  by  which  I  called  Juste,  and  he  called 
me  the  keeper  of  the  seals. 

"  A  man  must  be  wretched  indeed  to  sleep  as  much  as  our 
neighbor  !  "  cried  I,  jumping  on  to  the  chest  of  drawers  with  a 
knife  in  my  hand,  to  which  a  corkscrew  was  attached. 

I  made  a  round  hole  at  the  top  of  the  partition,  about  as 
big  as  a  five-sou  piece.  I  had  forgotten  that  there  would  be 
no  light  in  the  room,  and,  putting  my  eyes  to  the  hole,  I  saw 
only  darkness.  At  about  one  in  the  morning,  when  we  had 
finished  our  books  and  were  about  to  undress,  we  heard  a 
noise  in  our  neighbor's  room.  He  got  up,  struck  a  match, 
and  lighted  his  dip.  I  got  on  to  the  drawers  again,  and  I 
then  saw  Marcas  seated  at  his  table  and  copying  law-papers. 

His  room  was  about  half  the  size  of  ours ;  the  bed  stood  in 
a  recess  by  the  door,  for  the  passage  ended  there,  and  its 
breadth  was  added  to  his  garret ;  but  the  ground  on  which 
the  house  was  built  was  evidently  irregular,  for  the  party-wall 
formed  an  obtuse  angle,  and  the  room  was  not  square.  There 
was  no  fireplace,  only  a  small  earthenware  stove,  white 
blotched  with  green,  of  which  the  pipe  went  up  through  the 
roof.  The  window,  in  the  skew  side  of  the  room,  had  shabby, 
red  curtains.  The  furniture  consisted  of  an  armchair,  a  table, 
a  chair,  and  a  wretched  bed-table.  A  cupboard  in  the  wall 
held  his  clothes.  The  wall-paper  was  horrible ;  evidently 
only  a  servant  had  ever  lodged  there  before  Marcas. 

**  What  is  to  be  seen  ?  "  asked  the  doctor  as  I  got  down. 


Z.   MARCAS.  369 

"Look  for  yoursel/f"  said  I. 

At  nine  next  morning  Marcas  was  in  bed.  He  had  break- 
fasted off  a  saveloy ;  we  saw  on  a  plate,  with  some  crumbs  of 
bread,  the  remains  of  that  too  familiar  delicacy.  He  was 
asleep ;  he  did  not  wake  until  eleven.  He  then  set  to  work 
again  on  the  copy  he  had  begun  the  night  before,  which  was 
lying  on  the  table. 

On  going  downstairs  we  asked  the  price  of  that  room,  and 
were  told  fifteen  francs  a  month. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  we  were  fully  informed  as  to 
the  mode  of  life  of  Z.  Marcas.  He  did  copying,  at  so  much 
a  sheet  no  doubt,  for  a  law-writer  who  lived  in  the  courtyard 
of  the  Sainte-Chapelle.  He  worked  half  the  night ;  after 
sleeping  from  six  until  ten,  he  began  again  and  wrote  until 
three.  Then  he  went  out  to  take  the  copy  home  before 
dinner,  which  he  ate  at  Mizerai's  in  the  Rue  Michel-le-Comte, 
at  a  cost  of  nine  sous,  and  came  in  to  bed  at  six  o'clock.  It 
became  known  to  us  that  Marcas  did  not  utter  fifteen  sen- 
tences in  a  month ;  he  never  talked  to  anybody,  nor  said  a 
word  to  himself  in  his  dreadful  garret. 

*'  The  Ruins  of  Palmyra  are  terribly  silent !  "  said  Juste. 

This  taciturnity  in  a  man  whose  appearance  was  so  imposing 
was  strangely  significant.  Sometimes  when  we  met  him,  we 
exchanged  glances  full  of  meaning  on  both  sides,  but  they 
never  led  to  any  advances.  Insensibly  this  man  became  the 
object  of  our  secret  admiration,  though  we  knew  no  reason 
for  it.  Did  it  lie  in  his  secretly  simple  habits,  his  monastic 
regularity,  his  hermit-like  frugality,  his  idiotically  mechanical 
labor,  allowing  his  mind  to  remain  neuter  or  to  work  on  its 
own  lines,  seeming  to  us  to  hint  at  an  expectation  of  some 
stroke  of  good-luck  or  at  some  foregone  conclusion  as  to  his 
life? 

After  wandering  for  a  long  time  among  the  Ruins  of  Pal- 
myra, we  forgot  them — we  were  young  !  Then  came  the 
carnival,  the  Paris  carnival,  which,  henceforth,  will  eclipse 
24 


370  Z.  MARCAS, 

the  old  carnival  of  Venice,  unless  some  ill-advised  prefect  of 
police  is  antagonistic. 

Gambling  ought  to  be  allowed  during  the  carnival ;  but  the 
stupid  moralists  who  have  had  gambling  suppressed  are  inept 
financiers,  and  this  indispensable  evil  will  be  re-established 
among  us  when  it  is  proved  that  France  leaves  millions  at  the 
German  tables. 

This  splendid  carnival  brought  us  to  utter  penury,  as  it 
does  every  student.     We  got  rid  of  every  object  of  luxury ; 
we  sold  our  second  coats,  our  second  boots,  our  second  waist- 
coats— everything  of  which  we  had  a  duplicate,  except  our 
friend.     We  ate  bread  and  cold  sausages ;  we  looked  where 
we  walked ;  we  had  set  to  work  in  earnest.     We  owed  two 
months'  rent,  and  were  sure  of  having  a  bill  from  the  porter 
for  sixty  or  eighty  items  each,  and  amounting  to  forty  or  fifty 
ftancs.     We  made  no  noise,  and  did  not  laugh  as  we  crossed 
the  little  hall  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs ;  we  commonly  took 
it  at  a  flying  leap  from  the  lowest  step  into  the  street.     On 
the  day  when  we  first  found  ourselves  bereft  of  tobacco  for 
our  pipes,  it  struck  us  that  for  some  da3rs  we  had  been  eating 
bread  without  any  kind  of  butter. 
Great  was  our  distress. 
"  No  tobacco  !  "  said  the  doctor. 
"  No  cloak !  "  said  the  keeper  of  the  seals. 
"  Ah,  you  ytjung  rascals,  you  would  dress  as  the  postilion 
de  Longjumeau,  you  would  appear  as  Debardeurs,  sup  in  the 
morning,  and  breakfast  at  night  at  Very's — sometimes  even 
at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale.     Dry  bread  for  you,  my  boys ! 
Why,"  said  I,  in  a  big  bass  voice,   "  you  deserve  to  sleep 

under  the  bed,  you  are  not  worthy  to  lie  in  it " 

"Yes,  yes;  but,  keeper  of  the  seals,  there  is  no  more 
tobacco  !  "  said  Juste. 

"  It  is  high  time  to  write  home,  to  our  aunts,  our  moth- 
ers, and  our  sisters,  to  tell  them  that  we  have  no  underlinen 
left,  that  the  wear  and  tear  of  Faxis  would   ruin  garments 


2L  MAXCAS,  m. 


of  wire.     Tbes  ve  wiil  soItc  an  elegant  ^>wn»i*-J 
transmadji^  linen  into  alver." 

"  Bat  we  must  lire  till  «e  get  tiie  aavcr.** 

"Wen,  I  will  go  and  bring  aqt  a  loan  anKHig  sadi  (tf 
oar  friends  as  may  still  have  sohk  capital  to  inrest." 

"And  how  mncli  will  you  find?" 

"  Say  ten  firancs  !  "  replied  I  with  pride. 

It  was  midnight.  Marcas  had  heard  eroything.  He 
knocked  at  oar  door. 

*' Messieurs,"  said  he,  *'here  is  some  tobacco;  3roa  can 
repay  me  on  the  first  opportunity." 

We  were  struck,  not  by  the  dSsc,  which  we  accepted, 
bat  by  the  rich,  deep,  fiifl  voice  in  which  it  was  made; 
a  tone  only  comparable  to  the  lowest  string  of  ftganini's 
violin.      Marcas  vanished  without  waiting  for  our  thanks. 

Juste  and  I  kwketi  at  each  other  without  a  word.  To 
be  rescued  by  a  man  evidently  poorer  than  ourselves ! 
Juste  sat  down  to  write  to  every  membo-  of  his  fiunily, 
and  I  went  off  to  effect  a  loan.  I  brought  in  twoity 
francs  lent  me  by  a  fellow-provinciaL  In  that  evil  Int 
hifpy  day  gambling  was  still  tolerated,  and  in  its  lodes, 
as  hflffd  as  the  rocky  ore  of  Brazil,  young  men,  by  li^iag 
a  smdl  SOB,  bad  a  chance  of  wiiming  a  few  gold-pieces. 
Mj  friend,  too,  had  some  Turkish  tobacco  brooght  home 
from  Constantinopte  by  a  sailor,  and  he  gave  me  qmte  as 
much  as  we  had  taken  from  Z.  Marcas.  I  conveyed  the 
splendid  cargo  into  port,  and  we  went  in  triumph  to  repay 
our  neighbor  with  a  tawny  wig  of  Tmi:ish  tobacco  for  his 
dark  caporal. 

"You  were  determined  not  to  be  my  debtors,"  said  he. 
"  You  are  giving  me  gold  for  copper.  Yoa  are  boys — good 
boys 

The  sentences,  spoken  vn.  varying  tones,  were  varioosly 
emphasiaed.  The  words  were  nothing,  but  the  expression! 
That  made  us  friends  of  toa  years*  'itiadwig  at  ooce. 


372  Z.  MARCAS. 

Marcas,  on  hearing  us  coming,  had  covered  up  his  papers ; 
we  understood  that  it  would  be  taking  a  liberty  to  allude 
to  his  means  of  subsistence,  and  felt  ashamed  of  having 
watched  him.  His  cupboard  stood  open ;  in  it  there  were 
were  two  shirts,  a  white  necktie,  and  a  razor.  The  razor 
made  me  shudder.  A  looking-glass,  worth  five  francs  per- 
haps, hung  near  the  window. 

The  man's  few  and  simple  movements  had  a  sort  of 
savage  grandeur.  The  doctor  and  I  looked  at  each  other, 
wondering  what  we  could  say  in  reply.  Juste,  seeing  that  I 
was  speechless,  asked  Marcas  jestingly — 

**  You  cultivate  literature,  monsieur?" 

"Far  from  it!"  replied  Marcas.  "I  should  not  be  so 
wealthy." 

**  I  fancied,"  said  I,  '*  that  poetry  alone,  in  these  days,  was 
amply  sufficient  to  provide  a  man  with  lodgings  as  bad  as 
ours. ' ' 

My  remark  made  Marcas  smile,  and  the  smile  gave  a  charm 
to  his  yellow  face. 

"Ambition  is  not  a  less  severe  taskmaster  to  those  who 
fail,"  said  he.  "You,  who  are  beginning  life,  walk  in  the 
beaten  paths.  Never  dream  of  rising  superior,  you  will  be 
ruined  !  " 

"You  advise  us  to  stay  just  as  we  are?"  said  the  doctor, 
smiling. 

There  is  something  so  infectious  and  childlike  in  the  pleas- 
antries of  youth  that  Marcas  smiled  again  in  reply. 

"  What  incidents  can  have  given  you  this  detestable  philos- 
ophy?" asked  I. 

"  I  forgot  once  more  that  chance  is  the  result  of  an  im- 
mense equation  of  which  we  know  not  all  the  factors.  When 
we  start  from  zero  to  work  up  to  the  unit,  the  chances  are 
incalculable.  To  ambitious  men  Paris  is  an  immense  roulette 
table,  and  every  young  man  fancies  he  can  hit  on  a  successful 
progression  of  numbers." 


^       Z.   MARCAS.  373 

He  offered  us  the  tobacco  I  had  brought  that  we  might 
smoke  with  him  ;  the  doctor  went  to  fetch  our  pipes ;  Marcas 
filled  his,  and  then  he  came  to  sit  in  our  room,  bringing  the 
tobacco  with  him,  since  there  were  but  two  chairs  in  his. 
Juste,  as  brisk  as  a  squirrel,  ran  out  and  returned  with  a  boy 
carrying  three  bottles  of  Bordeaux,  some  Brie  cheese,  and  a 
loaf. 

"Hah!"  said  I  to  myself,  "fifteen  francs,"  and  I  was 
right  to  a  sou. 

Juste  gravely  laid  five  francs  on  the  chimney-shelf  and 
seated  himself. 

There  are  immeasurable  differences  between  the  gregarious 
man  and  the  man  who  lives  closest  to  nature.  Toussaint  Lou- 
verture,  after  he  was  caught,  died  without  speaking  a  word. 
Napoleon,  transplanted  to  a  rock,  talked  like  a  magpie — he 
wanted  to  account  for  himself.  Z.  Marcas  erred  in  the  same 
way,  but  for  our  benefit  only.  Silence  in  all  its  majesty  is  to 
be  found  only  in  the  savage.  There  never  is  a  criminal  who, 
though  he  might  let  his  secrets  fall  with  his  head  into  the 
basket  of  sawdust,  does  not  feel  the  purely  social  impulse  to 
tell  them  to  somebody. 

Nay,  I  am  wrong.  We  have  seen  one  Iroquois  of  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Marceau  who  raised  the  Parisian  to  the  level  of 
the  natural  savage — a  republican,  a  conspirator,  a  Frenchman, 
an  old  man,  who  outdid  all  we  have  heard  of  negro  deter- 
mination, and  all  that  Cooper  tells  us  of  the  tenacity  and  cool- 
ness of  the  redskins  under  defeat.  Morey,  the  Guatimozin 
of  the  "  Mountain,"  preserved  an  attitude  unparalleled  in  the 
annals  of  European  justice. 

This  is  what  Marcas  told  us  during  the  small  hours,  sand- 
wiching his  discourse  with  slices  of  bread  spread  with  cheese 
and  washed  down  with  wine.  All  the  tobacco  was  burned 
out.  Now  and  then  the  hackney  coaches  clattering  across 
the  Place  de  I'Odeon,  or  the  omnibuses  toiling  past,  sent  up 


374  Z.   MARCAS. 

their  dull  rumbling,  as  if  to  remind  us  that  Paris  was  still 
close  to  us. 

His  family  lived  atVitre;  his  father  and  mother  had  fifteen 
hundred  francs  a  year  in  the  funds.  He  had  received  an 
education  gratis  in  a  seminary,  but  had  refused  to  enter  the 
priesthood.  He  felt  in  himself  the  fires  of  immense  ambition, 
and  had  come  to  Paris  on  foot  at  the  age  of  twenty,  the  pos- 
sessor of  two  hundred  francs.  He  had  studied  the  law,  work- 
ing in  an  attorney's  office,  where  he  had  risen  to  be  senior 
clerk.  He  had  taken  his  doctor's  degree  in  law,  had  mastered 
the  old  and  modern  codes,  and  could  hold  his  own  with  the 
most  famous  pleaders.  He  had  studied  the  law  of  nations, 
and  was  familiar  with  European  treaties  and  international 
practice.  He  had  studied  men  and  things  in  five  capitals — 
London,  Berlin,  Vienna,  St.  Petersburg,  and  Constantinople. 

No  man  was  better  informed  than  he  as  to  the  rules  of  the 
Chamber.  For  five  years  he  had  been  reporter  of  the  debates 
for  a  daily  paper.  He  spoke  extempore  and  admirably, 
and  could  go  on  for  a  long  time  in  that  deep,  appealing  voice 
which  had  struck  us  to  the  soul.  Indeed,  he  proved  by  the 
narrative  of  his  life  that  he  was  a  great  orator,  a  concise  orator, 
serious  and  yet  full  of  piercing  eloquence ;  he  resembled 
Berryer  in  his  fervor  and  in  the  impetus  which  commands 
the  sympathy  of  the  masses,  and  was  like  Thiers  in  refinement 
and  skill ;  but  he  would  have  been  less  diffuse,  less  in  diffi- 
culties for  a  conclusion.  He  had  intended  to  rise  rapidly  to 
power  without  burdening  himself  first  with  the  doctrines  neces- 
sary to  begin  with,  for  a  man  in  opposition,  but  an  incubus 
later  to  the  statesman. 

Marcas  had  learned  everything  that  a  real  statesman  should 
know  ;  indeed,  his  amazement  was  considerable  when  he  had 
occasion  to  discern  the  utter  ignorance  of  men  who  have  risen 
to  the  administration  of  public  affairs  in  France.  Though  in 
him  it  was  vocation  that  had  led  to  study,  nature  had  been 
generous  and  bestowed  all  that  cannot  be  acquired — keen  per- 


Z.   MARCAS.  375 

in- 
ceptions, self-command,  a  nimble  wit,  rapid  judgment,  deci- 
siveness, and,  what  is  the  genius  of  these  men,  fertility  in 
resource. 

By  the  time  when  Marcas  thought  himself  duly  equipped, 
France  was  torn  by  intestinal  divisions  arising  from  the  tri- 
umph of  the  house  of  Orleans  over  the  elder  branch  of  the 
Bourbons. 

The  field  of  political  warfare  is  evidently  changed.  Civil 
war  henceforth  cannot  last  for  long,  and  will  not  be  fought 
out  in  the  provinces.  In  France  such  struggles  will  be  of 
brief  duration  and  at  the  seat  of  government ;  and  the  battle 
will  be  the  close  of  the  moral  contest  which  will  have  been 
brought  to  an  issue  by  superior  minds.  This  state  of  things 
will  continue  so  long  as  France  has  her  present  singular  form 
of  government,  which  has  no  analogy  with  that  of  any 
other  country ;  for  there  is  no  more  resemblance  between  the 
English  and  the  French  constitutions  than  between  the  two 
lands. 

Thus  Marcas*  place  was  in  the  political  press.  Being  poor 
and  unable  to  secure  his  election,  he  hoped  to  make  a  sudden 
appearance.  He  resolved  on  making  the  greatest  possible 
sacrifice  for  a  man  of  superior  intellect,  to  work  as  subordinate 
to  some  rich  and  ambitious  deputy.  Like  a  second  Bonaparte, 
he  sought  his  Barras ;  the  new  Colbert  hoped  to  find  a  Mazarin. 
He  did  immense  services,  and  he  did  them  then  and  there;  he 
assumed  no  importance,  he  made  no  boast,  he  did  not  com- 
plain of  ingratitude.  He  did  them  in  the  hope  that  his  patron 
would  put  him  in  a  position  to  be  elected  deputy ;  Marcas 
wished  for  nothing  but  a  loan  that  might  enable  him  to  pur- 
chase a  house  in  Paris,  the  qualification  required  by  law. 
Richard  III.  asked  for  nothing  but  his  horse. 

In  three  years  Marcas  had  made  his  man — one  of  the  fifty 
supposed  great  statesmen  who  are  the  battledores  with  which 
two  cunning  players  toss  the  ministerial  portfolios,  exactly  as 
the  man  behind  the  puppet-show  hits  Punch  against  the  con- 


376  Z.  MARCAS. 

stable  in  his  street  theatre,  and  counts  on  always  getting  paid. 
This  man  existed  only  by  Marcas,  but  he  had  just  brains 
enough  to  appreciate  the  value  of  his  "  ghost,"  and  to  know 
that  Marcas,  if  he  ever  came  to  the  front,  would  remain  there, 
would  be  indispensable,  while  he  himself  would  be  translated 
to  the  polar  zone  of  the  Luxembourg.  So  he  determined  to 
put  insurmountable  objects  in  the  way  of  his  mentor's  advance- 
ment, and  hid  his  purpose  under  the  semblance  of  the  utmost 
sincerity.  Like  all  mean  men,  he  could  dissimulate  to  per- 
fection, and  he  soon  made  progress  in  the  ways  of  ingratitude, 
for  he  felt  that  he  must  kill  Marcas,  not  to  be  killed  by  him. 
These  two  men,  apparently  so  united,  hated  each  other  as 
soon  as  one  had  once  deceived  the  other. 

The  politician  was  made  one  of  a  ministry;  Marcas  remained 
in  the  opposition  to  hinder  his  man  from  being  attacked;  nay, 
by  skillful  tactics  he  won  him  the  applause  of  the  opposition. 
To  excuse  himself  for  not  rewarding  his  subaltern,  the  chief 
pointed  out  the  impossibility  of  finding  a  place  suddenly  for  a 
man  on  the  other  side  without  a  great  deal  of  manceuvring. 
Marcas  had  hoped  confidently  for  a  place  to  enable  him  to 
marry,  and  thus  acquire  the  qualification  he  so  ardently  de- 
sired. He  was  two-and-thirty,  and  the  Chamber  ere  long 
must  be  dissolved.  Having  detected  his  man  in  this  fla- 
grant act  of  bad  faith,  he  overthrew  him,  or  at  any  rate  con- 
tributed largely  to  his  overthrow,  and  covered  him  with  mud. 

A  fallen  minister,  if  he  is  to  rise  again  to  power,  must  show 
that  he  is  to  be  feared  ;  this  man,  intoxicated  by  royal  glib- 
ness,  had  fancied  that  his  position  would  be  permanent ;  he 
acknowledged  his  delinquencies ;  beside  confessing  them,  he 
did  Marcas  a  small  money  service,  for  Marcas  had  gotten  into 
debt.  He  subsidized  the  newspaper  on  which  Marcas  worked, 
and  made  him  the  manager  of  it. 

Though  he  despised  the  man,  Marcas,  who,  practically,  was 
being  subsidized  too,  consented  to  take  the  part  of  the  fallen 
minister.     Without  unmasking  at  once  all  the  batteries  of  his 


Z.  MARCAS.  377 

'«■ 

*" 
superior  intellect,  Marcas  came  a  little  further  than  before ;  he 

showed  half  his  shrewdness.  The  ministry  lasted  only  a  hun- 
dred and  eighty  days ;  it  was  swallowed  up.  Marcas.  had 
put  himself  into  communication  with  certain  deputies,  had 
moulded  them  like  dough,  leaving  each  impressed  with  a 
high  opinion  of  his  talent ;  his  puppet  again  became  a  mem- 
ber of  the  ministry,  and  then  the  paper  was  ministerial.  The 
ministry  united  the  paper  with  another,  solely  to  squeeze  out 
Marcas,  who  in  this  fusion  had  to  make  way  for  a  rich  and 
insolent  rival,  whose  name  was  well  known,  and  who  already 
had  his  foot  in  the  stirrup. 

Marcas  relapsed  into  utter  destitution ;  his  haughty  patron 
well  knew  the  depths  into  which  he  had  cast  him. 

Where  was  he  to  go  ?  The  ministerial  papers,  privily  warned, 
would  have  nothing  to  say  to  him.  The  opposition  papers 
did  not  care  to  admit  him  to  their  offices.  Marcas  could  side 
neither  with  the  Republicans  nor  with  the  Legitimists,  two 
parties  whose  triumph  would  mean  the  overthrow  of  every- 
thing that  now  is. 

"Ambitious  men  like  a  fast  hold  on  things,"  said  he  with 
a  smile. 

He  lived  by  writing  a  few  articles  on  commercial  affairs, 
and  contributed  to  one  of  those  encyclopedias  brought  out  by 
speculation  and  not  by  learning.  Finally  a  paper  was  founded 
which  was  destined  to  live  but  two  years,  but  which  secured 
his  services.  From  that  moment  he  renewed  his  connection 
with  the  minister's  enemies ;  he  joined  the  party  who  were 
working  for  the  fall  of  the  government ;  and  as  soon  as  his 
pickaxe  had  free  play,  it  fell. 

This  paper  had  now  for  six  months  ceased  to  exist ;  he  had 
failed  to  find  employment  of  any  kind  ;  he  was  spoken  of  as 
a  dangerous  man,  calumny  attacked  him ;  he  had  unmasked 
a  huge  financial  and  mercantile  job  by  a  few  articles  and  a 
pamphlet.  He  was  known  to  be  the  mouthpiece  of  a  banker 
who  was  said  to  have  paid  him  largely,  and  from  whom  he 


878  Z.  MARCAS. 

was  supposed  to  expect  some  patronage  in  return  for  his  cham- 
pionship. Marcas,  disgusted  by  men  and  things,  worn  out 
by  five  years  of  fighting,  regarded  as  a  free-lance  rather  than 
as  a  great  leader,  crushed  by  the  necessity  for  earning  his 
daily  bread,  which  hindered  him  from  gaining  ground,  in 
despair  at  the  influence  exerted  by  money  over  mind,  and 
given  over  to  dire  poverty,  buried  himself  in  a  garret,  to 
make  thirty  sous  a  day,  the  sum  strictly  answering  to  his 
needs.  Meditation  had  leveled  a  desert  all  around  him. 
He  read  the  papers  to  be  informed  of  what  was  going  on. 
Pozzo  di  Borgo  had  once  lived  like  this  for  some  time. 

Marcas,  no  doubt,  was  planning  a  serious  attack,  accustom- 
ing himself  to  dissimulation,  and  punishing  himself  for  his 
blunders  by  pythagorean  muteness.  But  he  did  not  tell  us 
the  reasons  for  his  conduct. 

It  is  impossible  to  give  you  an  idea  of  the  scenes  of  the 
highest  comedy  that  lay  behind  this  algebraic  statement  of  his 
career ;  his  useless  patience  dogging  the  footsteps  of  fortune, 
which  presently  took  wings,  his  long  tramps  over  the  thorny 
brakes  of  Paris,  his  breathless  chases  as  a  petitioner,  his  at- 
tempts to  win  over  fools;  the  schemes  laid  only  to  fail 
through  the  influence  of  some  frivolous  woman  ;  the  meetings 
with  men  of  business  who  expected  their  capital  to  bring 
them  places  and  a  peerage,  as  well  as  large  interest.  Then 
the  hopes  rising  in  a  towering  wave  only  to  break  in  foam  on 
the  shoal ;  the  wonders  wrought  in  reconciling  adverse  inter- 
ests which,  after  working  together  for  a  week,  fell  asunder ; 
the  annoyance,  a  thousand  times  repeated,  of  seeing  a  dunce 
decorated  with  the  Legion  of  Honor,  and  preferred,  though 
as  ignorant  as  a  shop-boy,  to  a  man  of  talent.  Then,  what 
Marcas  called  the  stratagems  of  stupidity — you  strike  a  man, 
and  he  seems  convinced,  he  nods  his  head — everything  is 
settled ;  next  day,  this  india-rubber  ball,  flattened  for  a  mo- 
ment, has  recovered  itself  in  the  course  of  the  night ;  it  is  as 
full  of  wind  as  ever ;  you  must  begin  all  over  again  ;  and  you 


^  Z.   MARCAS.  879 

go  on  till  you  understand  that  you  are  not  not  dealing  with  a 
man,  but  with  a  lump  of  gum  that  loses  shape  in  the  sunshine. 

These  thousand  annoyances,  this  vast  waste  of  human  en- 
ergy on  barren  spots,  the  difficulty  of  achieving  any  good, 
the  incredible  facility  of  doing  mischief;  two  strong  games 
played  out,  twice  won  and  then  twice  lost ;  the  hatred  of  a 
statesman — a  blockhead  with  a  painted  face  and  a  wig,  but  in 
whom  the  world  believed — all  these  things,  great  and  small, 
had  not  crushed,  but  for  the  moment  had  dashed,  Marcas. 
In  the  days  when  money  had  come  into  his  hands,  his  fingers 
had  not  clutched  it ;  he  had  allowed  himself  the  exquisite 
pleasure  of  sending  it  all  to  his  family — to  his  sisters,  his 
brothers,  his  old  father.  Like  Napoleon  in  his  fall,  he  asked 
for  no  more  than  thirty  sous  a  day,  and  any  man  of  energy 
can  earn  thirty  sous  for  a  day's  work  in  Paris. 

When  Marcas  had  finished  the  story  of  his  life,  intermingled 
with  reflections,  maxims,  and  observations,  revealing  him  as 
a  great  politician,  a  few  questions  and  answers  on  both  sides 
as  to  the  progress  of  affairs  in  France  and  in  Europe  were 
enough  to  prove  to  us  that  he  was  a  real  statesman  ;  for  a  man 
may  be  quickly  and  easily  judged  when  he  can  be  brought  on 
to  the  ground  of  immediate  difficulties :  there  is  a  certain 
shibboleth  for  men  of  superior  talents,  and  we  are  of  the 
tribe  of  modern  Levites  without  belonging  as  yet  to  the 
temple.  As  I  have  said,  our  frivolity  covered  certain  purposes 
which  Juste  has  carried  out,  and  which  I  am  about  to  execute. 

When  we  had  done  talking,  we  all  three  went  out,  cold  as 
it  was,  to  walk  in  the  Luxembourg  gardens  till  the  dinner- 
hour.  In  the  course  of  that  walk  our  conversation,  grave 
throughout,  turned  on  the  painful  aspects  of  the  political  situ- 
ation. Each  of  us  contributed  his  remarks,  his  comment,  or 
his  jest,  a  pleasantry  or  a  proverb.  This  was  no  longer  ex- 
clusively a  discussion  of  life  on  the  colossal  scale  just  de- 
scribed by  Marcas,  the  soldier  of  political  warfare.  .  Nor  was 
it  the  distressful  monologue  of  the  wrecked  navigator,  stranded 


380  Z.  MARCAS. 

in  a  garret  in  the  Hotel  Corneille  ;  it  was  a  dialogue  in  which 
two  well-informed  young  men,  having  gauged  the  times  they 
lived  in,  were  endeavoring,  under  the  guidance  of  a  man  of 
talent,  to  gain  some  light  on  their  own  future  prospects. 

"Why,"  asked  Juste,  **  did  you  not  wait  patiently  for  an 
opportunity,  and  imitate  the  only  man  who  has  been  able  to 
keep  the  lead  since  the  revolution  of  July  by  holding  his  head 
above  water?" 

**  Have  I  not  said  that  we  never  know  where  the  roots  of 
chance  lie  ?  Carrel  was  in  identically  the  same  position  as 
the  orator  you  speak  of.  That  gloomy  young  man,  of  a  bitter 
spirit,  had  a  whole  government  in  his  head  ;  the  man  of  whom 
you  speak  had  no  idea  beyond  mounting  on  the  crupper  of 
every  event.  Of  the  two,  Carrel  was  the  better  man.  Well, 
one  became  a  minister.  Carrel  remained  a-  journalist ;  the  in- 
complete but  craftier  man  is  living ;  Carrel  is  dead. 

**I  may  point  out  that  your  man  has  for  fifteen  years 
been  making  his  way,  and  is  but  making  it  still.  He  may 
yet  be  caught  and  crushed  between  two  cars  full  of  intrigues 
on  the  high-road  to  power.  He  has  no  house ;  he  has  not  the 
favor  of  the  palace  like  Metternich ;  nor,  like  Villele,  the 
protection  of  a  compact  majority. 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  the  present  state  of  things  will  last 
ten  years  longer.  Hence,  supposing  I  should  have  such  poor 
good-luck,  I  am  already  too  late  to  avoid  being  swept  away 
by  the  commotion  I  foresee.  I  should  need  to  be  established 
in  a  superior  position." 

"What  commotion?"  asked  Juste. 

"August,  1830,"  said  Marcas  in  solemn  tones,  holding  out 
his  hand  toward  Paris;  "August,  the  offspring  of  Youth 
which  bound  the  sheaves,  and  of  Intellect  which  had  ripened 
the  harvest,  forgot  to  provide  for  Youth  and  Intellect. 

"  Youth  will  explode  like  the  boiler  of  a  steam-engine. 
Youth  has  no  outlet  in  France ;  it  is  gathering  an  avalanche 
pf  underrated  capabilities,  of  legitimate  and  restless  ambi- 


^  Z.  MARCAS.  381 

tions ;  young  men  are  not  marrying  now ;  families  cannot 
tell  what  to  do  with  their  children.  What  will  the  thunder- 
clap be  that  will  shake  down  these  masses  ?  I  know  not,  but 
they  will  crash  down  into  the  midst  of  things  and  overthrow 
everything.  These  are  laws  of  hydrostatics  which  act  on  the 
human  race ;  the  Roman  Empire  had  failed  to  understand 
them,  and  the  barbaric  hordes  came  down. 

"The  barbaric  hordes  now  are  the  intelligent  class.  The 
laws  of  overpressure  are  at  this  moment  acting  slowly  and 
silently  in  our  midst.  The  government  is  the  great  criminal ; 
it  does  not  appreciate  the  two  powers  to  which  it  owes  every- 
thing ;  it  has  allowed  its  hands  to  be  tied  by  the  absurdities 
of  the  Contract ;  it  is  bound,  ready  to  be  the  victim. 

"Louis  XIV.,  Napoleon,  England,  all  were  or  are  eager 
for  intelligent  youth.  In  France  the  young  are  condemned 
by  the  new  legislation,  by  the  blundering  principles  of  elective 
rights,  by  the  unsoundness  of  the  ministerial  constitution. 

"  Look  at  the  elective  Chamber ;  you  will  find  no  deputies 
of  thirty ;  the  youth  of  Richelieu  and  of  Mazarin,  of  Turenne 
and  of  Colbert,  of  Pitt  and  of  Saint- Just,  of  Napoleon  and 
of  Prince  Metternich,  would  find  no  admission  there  ;  Burke, 
Sheridan,  or  Fox  could  not  win  seats.  Even  if  political  ma- 
jority had  been  fixed  at  one-and-twenty,  and  eligibility  had 
been  relieved  of  every  disabling  qualification,  the  departments 
would  have  returned  the  very  same  members,  men  devoid  of 
political  talent,  unable  to  speak  without  murdering  French 
grammar,  and  among  whom,  in  ten  years,  scarcely  one  states- 
man has  been  found. 

"  The  causes  of  an  impending  event  may  be  seen,  but  the 
event  itself  cannot  be  foretold.  At  this  moment  the  youth 
of  France  is  being  driven  into  republicanism,  because  it  be- 
lieves that  the  republic  would  bring  it  emancipation.  It  will 
always  remember  the  young  representatives  of  the  people  and 
the  young  army  leaders !  The  imprudence  of  the  government 
is  only  comparable  to  its  avarice." 


382  Z.  MARCAS. 

That  day  left  its  echoes  in  our  lives.  Marcas  confirmed  us 
in  our  resolution  to  leave  France,  where  young  men  of  talent 
and  energy  are  crushed  under  the  weight  of  successful  com- 
monplace, envious,  and  insatiable  middle  age. 

We  dined  together  in  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe.  We  thence- 
forth felt  for  Marcas  the  most  respectful  affection  \  he  gave  us 
the  most  practical  aid  in  the  sphere  of  the  mind.  That  man 
knew  everything ;  he  had  studied  everything.  For  us  he  cast 
his  eye  over  the  whole  civilized  world,  seeking  the  country 
where  openings  would  be  at  once  the  most  abundant  and  the 
most  favorable  to  the  success  of  our  plans.  He  indicated 
what  should  be  the  goal  of  our  studies ;  he  bid  us  make  haste, 
explaining  to  us  that  time  was  precious,  that  emigration  would 
presently  begin,  and  that  its  effect  would  be  to  deprive  France 
of  the  cream  of  its  powers  and  of  its  youthful  talent;  that 
their  intelligence,  necessarily  sharpened,  would  select  the  best 
places,  and  that  the  great  thing  was  to  be  first  in  the  field. 

Thenceforward,  we  often  sat  late  at  work  under  the  lamp. 
Our  generous  instructor  wrote  some  notes  for  our  guidance — 
two  pages  for  Juste  and  three  for  me — full  of  invaluable  advice 
— the  sort  of  information  which  experience  alone  can  supply, 
such  landmarks  as  only  genius  can  place.  In  those  papers, 
smelling  of  tobacco  and  covered  with  writing  so  vile  as  to  be 
almost  hieroglyphic,  there  are  suggestions  for  a  fortune,  and 
forecasts  of  unerring  acumen.  There  are  hints  as  to  certain 
parts  of  America  and  Asia  which  have  been  fully  justified,  both 
before  and  since  Juste  and  I  could  set  out. 

Marcas,  like  us,  was  in  the  most  abject  poverty.  He  earned, 
indeed,  his  daily  bread,  but  he  had  neither  linen,  clothes,  nor 
shoes.  He  did  not  make  himself  out  any  better  than  be  was ; 
his  dreams  had  been  of  luxury  as  well  as  of  power.  He  did 
not  admit  that  this  was  the  real  Marcas ;  he  abandoned  his 
person,  indeed,  to  the  caprices  of  life.  What  he  lived  by  was 
the  breath  of  ambition  ;  he  dreamed  of  revenge  while  blaming 
himself  for  yielding  to  so  shallow  a  feeling.     The  true  states- 


Z.  MARCAS.  383 

man  ought,  above  jfll  things,  to  be  superior  to  vulgar  passions ; 
like  the  man  of  science,  he  should  have  no  passion  but  for  his 
science.  It  was  in  these  days  of  dire  necessity  that  Marcas 
seemed  to  us  so  great — nay,  so  terrible ;  there  was  something 
awful  in  the  gaze  which  saw  another  world  than  that  which 
strikes  the  eyes  of  ordinary  men.  To  us  he  was  a  subject  of 
comtemplation  and  astonishment;  for  the  young — which  of 
us  has  not  known  it? — the  young  have  a  keen  craving  to 
admire;  they  love  to  attach  themselves,  and  are  naturally 
inclined  to  submit  to  the  men  they  feel  to  be  superior,  as  they 
are  to  devote  themselves  to  a  great  cause. 

Our  surprise  was  chiefly  aroused  by  his  indifference  in 
matters  of  sentiment ;  woman  had  no  place  in  his  life.  When 
we  spoke  of  this  matter,  a  perennial  theme  of  conversation 
among  Frenchmen,  he  simply  remarked — 

"  Gowns  cost  too  much." 

He  saw  the  look  that  passed  between  Juste  and  me,  and 
went  on — 

"  Yes,  far  too  much.  The  woman  you  buy — and  she  is  the 
least  expensive — takes  a  great  deal  of  money.  The  woman 
who  gives  herself  takes  all  your  time  !  Woman  extinguishes 
every  energy,  every  ambition.  Napoleon  reduced  her  to  what 
she  should  be.  From  that  point  of  view,  he  really  was  great. 
He  did  not  indulge  such  ruinous  fancies  as  Louis  XIV.  and 
Louis  XV.;  at  the  same  time,  he  could  love  in  secret." 

We  discovered  that,  like  Pitt,  who  made  England  his  wife, 
Marcas  bore  France  in  his  heart ;  he  idolized  his  country ;  he 
had  not  a  thought  that  was  not  for  his  native  land.  His  fury 
at  feeling  that  he  had  in  his  hands  the  remedy  for  the  evils 
which  so  deeply  saddened  him,  and  could  not  apply  it,  ate 
into  his  soul,  and  this  rage  was  increased  by  the  inferiority  of 
France  at  that  time,  as  compared  with  Russia  and  England. 
France  a  third-rate  power!  This  cry  came  up  again  and 
again  in  his  conversation.  The  intestinal  disorders  of  his 
country  had  entered  into  his  soul.     All  the  contests  between 


884  Z.   MARCAS. 

the  Court  and  the  Chamber,  showing,  as  they  did,  incessant 
change  and  constant  vacillation,  which  must  injure  the  pros- 
perity of  the  country,  he  scoffed  at  as  backstairs  squabbles. 
"  This  is  peace  at  the  cost  of  the  future,"  he  said. 

One  evening  Juste  and  I  were  at  work,  sitting  in  perfect 
silence.  Marcas  had  just  risen  to  toil  at  his  copying,  for  he 
had  refused  our  assistance  in  spite  of  our  most  earnest  en- 
treaties. We  had  offered  to  take  it  in  turns  to  copy  a  batch 
of  manuscript,  so  that  he  should  do  but  a  third  of  his  dis- 
tasteful task ;  he  had  been  quite  angry,  and  we  had  ceased  to 
insist. 

We  heard  the  sound  of  gentlemanly  shoes  in  the  passage, 
and  raised  our  heads,  looking  at  each  other.  There  was  a 
tap  at  Marcas'  door — he  never  took  the  key  out  of  the  lock — 
and  we  heard  our  hero  answer — 

**  Come  in."     Then — "  What !  you  here,  monsieur !  " 

**I  myself,"  replied  the  retired  minister. 

It  was  the  Diocletian  of  this  unknown  martyr. 

For  some  time  he  and  our  neighbor  conversed  in  an  under- 
tone. Suddenly  Marcas,  whose  voice  had  been  heard  but 
rarely,  as  is  natural  in  a  dialogue  in  which  the  applicant 
begins  by  setting  forth  the  situation,  broke  out  loudly  in 
reply  to  some  offer  we  had  not  overheard. 

"You  would  laugh  at  me  for  a  fool,"  he  cried,  "  if  I  took 
you  at  your  word.  Jesuits  are  a  thing  of  the  past,  but  Jesuit- 
ism is  eternal.  Your  Machiavellism  and  your  generosity  are 
equally  hollow  and  untrustworthy.  You  can  make  your  own 
calculations,  but  who  can  calculate  on  you  ?  Your  court  is 
made  up  of  owls  who  fear  the  light,  of  old  men  who  quake 
in  the  presence  of  the  young,  or  who  simply  disregard  them. 
The  government  is  formed  on  the  same  pattern  as  the  court. 
You  have  hunted  up  the  remains  of  the  empire,  as  the  resto- 
ration enlisted  the  voltigeurs  of  Louis  XIV. 

"  Hitherto  the  evasions  of  cowardice  have  been  taken  for 


Z.   MARCAS.  385 

the  manoeuvring  of  ability ;  but  dangers  will  come,  and  the 
younger  generation  will  rise  as  they  did  in  1790.  They  did 
grand  things  then.  Just  now  you  change  ministries  as  a  sick 
man  turns  in  his  bed ;  these  oscillations  betray  the  weakness 
of  the  government.  You  work  on  an  underhand  system  of 
policy  which  will  be  turned  against  you,  for  France  will  be 
tired  of  your  shuffling.  France  will  not  tell  you  that  she  is 
tired  of  you ;  a  man  never  knows  whence  his  ruin  comes ;  it 
is  the  historian's  task  to  find  out ;  but  you  will  undoubtedly 
perish  as  the  reward  of  not  having  asked  the  youth  of  France 
to  lend  you  its  strength  and  energy ;  for  having  hated  really 
capable  men ;  for  not  having  lovingly  chosen  them  from 
this  noble  generation ;  for  having  in  all  cases  preferred  me- 
diocrity. 

"You  have  come  to  ask  my  support,  but  you  are  an  atom 
in  that  decrepit  heap  which  is  made  hideous  by  self-interest, 
which  trembles  and  squirms,  and,  because  it  is  so  mean,  tries 
to  make  France  mean  too.  My  strong  nature,  my  ideas, 
would  work  like  poison  in  you ;  twice  you  have  tricked  me, 
twice  have  I  overthrown  you.  If  we  unite  a  third  time,  it 
must  be  a  very  serious  matter.  I  should  kill  myself  if  I 
allowed  myself  to  be  duped ;  for  I  should  be  to  blame,  not 
you." 

Then  we  heard  the  humblest  entreaties,  the  most  fervent 
adjurations,  not  to  deprive  the  country  of  such  superior 
talents.  The  man  spoke  of  patriotism,  and  Marcas  uttered  a 
significant  ''Ouh/  ouh  !^^  He  laughed  at  his  would-be 
patron.  Then  the  statesman  was  more  explicit ;  he  bowed  to 
the  superiority  of  his  ere-while  counselor ;  he  pledged  him- 
self to  enable  Marcas  to  remain  in  office,  to  be  elected  deputy ; 
then  he  offered  him  a  high  appointment,  promising  him  that 
he,  the  speaker,  would  thenceforth  be  the  subordinate  of  a 
man  whose  subaltern  he  was  only  worthy  to  be.  He  was  in 
the  newly  formed  ministry,  and  he  would  not  return  to  power 
unless  Marcas  had  a  post  in  proportion  to  his  merit  j  he  had 
25 


386  Z.   MARCAS. 

already  made  it  a  condition,  Marcas  had  been  regarded  as 
indispensable. 

Marcas  refused. 

**  I  have  never  before  been  in  a  position  to  keep  my  prom- 
ises ;  here  is  an  opportunity  of  proving  myself  faithful  to  my 
word,  and  you  fail  me  !  " 

To  this  Marcas  made  no  reply.  The  shoes  were  again 
audible  in  the  passage  on  the  way  to  the  stairs. 

"  Marcas,  Marcas !  "  we  both  cried,  rushing  into  his  room. 
"  Why  refuse  ?  He  really  meant  it.  His  offers  are  very  hand- 
some; at  any  rate,  go  to  see  the  ministers." 

In  a  twinkling,  we  had  given  Marcas  a  hundred  reasons. 
The  minister's  voice  was  sincere ;  without  seeing  him,  we  had 
felt  sure  that  he  was  honest. 

"  I  have  no  clothes,"  replied  Marcas. 

"  Rely  on  us,"  said  Juste,  with  a  glance  at  me. 

Marcas  had  the  courage  to  trust  us ;  a  light  flashed  in  his 
eye,  he  pushed  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  lifting  it  from  his 
forehead  with  a  gesture  that  showed  some  confidence  in  his 
luck  ;  and  when  he  had  thus  unveiled  his  face,  so  to  speak,  we 
saw  in  him  a  man  absolutely  unknown  to  us — Marcas  sublime, 
Marcas  in  his  power !  His  mind  in  its  element — the  bird  re- 
stored to  the  free  air,  the  fish  to  the  water,  the  horse  galloping 
across  the  plain. 

It  was  transient.  His  brow  clouded  again  ;  he  had,  it 
would  seem,  a  vision  of  his  fate.  Halting  doubt  had  followed 
close  on  the  heels  of  white-winged  hope. 

We  left  him  to  himself. 

"Now  then,"  said  I  to  the  doctor,  "we  have  given  our 
word  ;  how  are  we  to  keep  it  ?  " 

"We  will  sleep  upon  it,"  said  Juste,  "and  to-morrow 
morning  we  will  talk  it  over." 

Next  morning  we  went  for  a  walk  in  the  Luxembourg. 

We  had  had  time  to  think  over  the  incident  of  the  past 
night,  and  were  both  equally  surprised  at  the  lack  of  address 


^  Z.  MARCAS.  887 

shown  by  Marcas  in  the  minor  difficulties  of  life — he,  a  man 
who  never  saw  any  difficulties  in  the  solution  of  the  hardest 
problems  of  abstract  or  practical  politics.  But  these  elevated 
characters  can  all  be  tripped  up  on  a  grain  of  sand,  and  will, 
like  the  grandest  enterprise,  miss  fire  for  want  of  a  thousand 
francs.  It  is  the  old  story  of  Napoleon,  who,  for  lack  of  a  pair 
of  boots,  did  not  set  out  for  India. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  hit  upon  ?  "  asked  Juste. 

"  I  have  thought  of  a  way  to  get  him  a  complete  outfit." 

"Where?" 

"From  Humann." 

"How?" 

"Humann,  my  boy,  never  goes  to  his  ctistomers — his  cus- 
tomers go  to  him ;  so  that  he  does  not  know  whether  I  am 
rich  or  poor.  He  only  knows  that  I  dress  well  and  look  de- 
cent in  the  clothes  he  makes  for  me.  I  shall  tell  him  that  an 
uncle  of  mine  has  dropped  in  from  the  country,  and  that  his 
indifference  in  matters  of  dress  is  quite  a  discredit  to  me  in 
the  upper  circles  where  I  am  trying  to  find  a  wife.  It 
will  not  be  Humann  if  he  sends  in  his  bill  before  three 
months." 

The  doctor  thought  this  a  capital  idea  for  a  vaudeville,  but 
poor  enough  in  real  life,  and  doubted  my  success.  But,  I  give 
you  my  word  of  honor,  Humann  dressed  Marcas,  and,  being 
an  artist,  turned  him  out  as  a  political  personage  ought  to  be 
dressed. 

Juste  lent  Marcas  two  hundred  francs  in  gold,  the  product 
of  two  watches  bought  on  credit  and  pawned  at  the  Mont-de- 
Pi6te.*  For  my  part,  I  had  said  nothing  of  six  shirts  and  all 
necessary  linen,  which  cost  me  no  more  than  the  pleasure  of 
asking  for  them  from  a  forewoman  in  a  shop  whom  I  had 
treated  to  Musard's  during  the  carnival. 

Marcas  accepted  everything,  thanking  us  no  more  than  he 
ought.  He  only  inquired  as  to  the  means  by  which  we  had 
*  State  supervised  pawnbrokers. 


388  Z.   MARCAS. 

gotten  possession  of  such  riches,  and  we  made  him  laugh  for  the 
last  time.  We  looked  on  our  Marcas  as  shipowners,  when 
they  have  exhausted  their  credit  and  every  resource  at  their 
command  to  fit  out  a  vessel,  must  look  on  it  as  it  puts  to  sea. 

Here  Charles  was  silent ;  he  seemed  crushed  by  his  memo- 
ries. 

"  Well,"  cried  the  audience,  "  and  what  happened  ?  " 

**  I  will  tell  you  in  few  words — for  this  is  not  romance — it 
is  history." 

We  saw  no  more  of  Marcas.  The  administration  lasted 
for  three  months ;  it  fell  at  the  end  of  the  session.  Then  Mar- 
cas came  back  to  us,  worked  to  death.  He  had  sounded  the 
crater  of  power ;  he  came  away  from  it  with  the  beginnings 
of  brain  fever.  The  disease  made  rapid  progress  ;  we  nursed 
him.  Juste  at  once  called  in  the  chief  physician  of  the  hos- 
pital where  he  was  working  as  house-surgeon.  I  was  then 
living  alone  in  our  room,  and  I  was  the  most  attentive  attend- 
ant ;  but  care  and  science  alike  were  in  vain.  By  the  month 
of  January,  1838,  Marcas  himself  felt  that  he  had  but  a  few 
days  to  live. 

The  man  whose  soul  and  brain  he  had  been  for  six  months 
never  even  sent  to  inquire  after  him.  Marcas  expressed  the 
greatest  contempt  for  the  government ;  he  seemed  to  doubt 
what  the  fate  of  France  might  be,  and  it  was  this  doubt  that 
had  made  him  ill.  He  had,  he  thought,  detected  treason  in 
the  heart  of  power,  not  tangible,  seizable  treason,  the  result 
of  facts,  but  the  treason  of  a  system,  the  subordination  of 
national  interests  to  selfish  ends.  His  belief  in  the  degrada- 
tion of  the  country  was  enough  to  aggravate  his  complaint. 

I  myself  was  witness  to  the  proposals  made  to  him  by  one 
of  the  leaders  of  the  antagonistic  party  which  he  had  fought 
against.  His  hatred  of  the  men  he  had  tried  to  serve  was  so 
virulent  that  he  would  gladly  have  joined  the  coalition  that 
was  about  to  be  formed  among  certain  ambitious  spirits  who, 
at  least,  had  one  idea  in  common — that  of  shaking  off  the 


Z.   MARCAS.  389 

yoke  of  the  court.  But  Marcas  could  only  reply  to  the  envoy 
in  the  words  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville — 

"  It  is  too  late  !  " 

Marcas  did  not  leave  money  enough  to  pay  for  his  funeral. 
Juste  and  I  had  great  difficulty  in  saving  him  from  the  igno- 
miny of  a  pauper's  bier,  and  we  alone  followed  the  coffin  of 
Z.  Marcas,  which  was  dropped  into  the  common  grave  of  the 
cemetery  of  Mont-Parnasse. 

We  looked  sadly  at  each  other  as  we  listened  to  this  tale, 
the  last  we  heard  from  the  lips  of  Charles  Rabourdin  the  day 
before  he  embarked  at  le  Havre  on  a  brig  that  was  to  convey 
him  to  the  islands  of  Malay.  We  all  knew  more  than  one 
Marcas,  more  than  one  victim  of  his  devotion  to  a  party,  re- 
paid by  betrayal  or  neglect. 

Les  Jardies,  May,  1840. 


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